


blood will have blood

by skittidyne



Series: political intrigue [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Character Death, Crown Prince Daichi, General Koushi, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Political Intrigue, Side: KuroKen, Side: SuguMika, Slow Burn, Smut, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 195,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9664034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: Crown Prince Daichi of Amicora wishes to put an end to an overly long and overly brutal war. But threats come not only from their adversaries to the north, the famously cruel Council of Generals ruling Setaria, but from also within his own court.With a costly treaty, hidden spies, deceptive foreigners, and the threat of further death, if he wants any chance of saving his country, Daichi must carefully choose his allies—and his enemies.





	1. by blood, a king

**Author's Note:**

> (( tags will be added as the story progresses, and updates will happen every other week. i guess on saturdays! 
> 
> beta'd by the lovely [jay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lowermiddlechild/pseuds/lowermiddlechild) who came onto this project with guns blazing. hope you enjoy what we came up with! ))

“If you would just _listen to me_ for once—”

“I’m not listening to the prattle of a boy pretending to be a man!”

“Father, you can’t undermine me in front of half the court!”

The King of Amicora turns on his heel to better face his son. The curve of the movement brings up his hand, rigid and poised to swing down against him, not unlike a guillotine.

But Daichi does not flinch.

The King seems to better grasp himself, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “You do not yet wear the crown,” the man says with an angry cough, which soon becomes nearly a fit. One of the entourage steps forward, but the King puts up a hand—not the one that had threatened to strike the Crown Prince—and waves them off. “Do not—do not forget yourself, my son. You are willful and stubborn, yet you have good qualities. Do not overstep, and they will carry you far.”

A warning under the soft, fatherly guise of advice. Daichi grits his teeth and watches the man leave; he makes no move to follow, despite how quickly he’d stormed out after him.

There’s not much to be said anymore, anyway. He has spoken his piece, more than a few times, in front of others as well as his father. Daichi fears his words falling on willfully deaf ears.

He knows court and public opinion are divided, but he sees behind the country’s facade, too: they are struggling. Even the royal family are bare bones, struggling to keep up public morale. Fights such as these are nearly commonplace now. Neither care about any rumor mongering nobility overhearing them; they have had screaming matches in corridors, in private chambers, in grand halls. It’s not even a scandal for their attendants any longer.

They cannot afford to keep up this grueling war. They do not have the funds, nor the people, to keep paying this steep price. Daichi believes the war to have been started for foolish reasons, though he is alone in that regard; he is not alone in believing that it has been continued for foolish reasons.

Daichi received his pride from his father.

 

—

 

Daichi has spent most his life living in an era of warfare.

When he studies history, he finds that this is not uncommon, both in his own family going back generations, and in different countries. History is pockmarked by war. Emperors and kings are bookended by it. It dictates how future peoples will view them—are they tyrants, weak-willed cowards, great leaders, greater fighters?

Daichi doesn’t want that kind of future for his people.

Daichi is so, so tired of bloodshed.

He has the basic training as befitting his station, and he’d even dare say he’s _good_ at it. He may not have the sheer size of some of his guards, but he maintains his body, practices with short and long swords and daggers and rapiers. He knows enough of how to use a pistol. He’s actually quite good with horses and hounds.

But he has never been to the warfront. He’s never made a person bleed with sheer violence, only accidents in training or life. He has never had to watch the life drain out of someone’s eyes.

His father has. His father, the great war hero of his prime. Some say he’s seeking a second glory age, but Daichi knows it’s not that simple, not that crude. But the man knows war, first and foremost. Perhaps best. Perhaps it’s _all_ he knows now. Daichi has drawn up plans, strategies, treaty drafts, all for the benefit of his King and country, just to have them dismissed.

Some of his tutors, who’d helped him with the finer details, had said that they were actually very good.

“Why bother being impatient?” Tetsurou draws out the vowels of his accent as he always does when he wants to especially annoy Daichi.

“There are people dying, every day. We have two provinces that are near starving to death.” Daichi always has a new answer for him.

“We have already rerouted one of the trade lines so supplies go through the southern ports first,” Asahi mildly points out. “Because you brought this up, it’s getting fixed. You’re saving a lot of people before this becomes a problem, my prince.”

“Some people are just built to worry,” Tetsurou says with a leer at the both of them. His accent is still atrocious. Daichi some time wants to visit the little fishing village Tetsurou hails from. He wants to know if everyone talks as awfully as he does, or if Daichi merely got saddled with the worst of the bunch.

“It’s not worry when this is dragging on for too long. I’ve almost gotten that troublesome eastern Lord to see that we must pull back more troops, but—”

“It’s a miracle you haven’t been assassinated yet,” Tetsurou interrupts with a heavy, world-weary sigh. “I mean, _I_ am the miracle standing between you and certain death, but to be frank, Daichi, a touch of patience would aid you in the long term.”

“You forget yourself,” Daichi complains. Asahi fidgets, nervously. _He_ never purposefully riles Daichi.

“He has a point…” Asahi murmurs, and Daichi takes back every mental compliment.

“ _Huh_?!”

“There are no other major powers vying for the throne. You are the Crown Prince of Amicora, and your father the King has never threatened to take your birthright from you.”

“He loves his blood too much for that,” Tetsurou adds.

“You _will_ have the power to change things for the better, in addition to what you have already done,” Asahi finishes with surprising firmness.

Not that it soothes Daichi at all. “What good is a King if all he lords over are bloodstained battlefields and barren fields? Father may be old, but he’s not in danger of collapsing any time soon, and he drives the country to ruin with every step he takes.”

“Tell us how you _really_ feel, Daichi,” Tetsurou says around a faked yawn. “Maybe learning some patience _and_ how to hold your tongue once in awhile would do you some good. Spewing such vitriol toward your beloved King won’t endear you to any court members you will want to sway in the future.”

“It stops any attempts at false flattery or lying to my face,” Daichi wryly replies. He _knows_ Tetsurou has a point, however. He usually does. It’s strange, these moments, when he takes his role of advisor halfway seriously.

“Prudence, my lord,” Asahi says.

“ _Discretion_ , my lord,” Tetsurou parrots back with proper emphasis. “It hasn’t yet been a fortnight since General Irihata was slain by his own men.”

“Tetsurou,” Asahi scolds, and he for once stands to his full height, eyes hard and glinting. “You are not the one to lecture our lord on holding his tongue. What happened to the General was a travesty—”

“An avoidable one.”

“Asahi’s right,” Daichi cuts in before Tetsurou could make a further ass of himself. He’s used to it, most of the palace staff are used to it, but he does not like to see his dearest friends fight, especially when he’s the cause. “Tetsurou, I love you, but you’re the only one who could give me or General Ukai any challenge in the amount of how little we hold our tongues in front of Father. Hearing such advice from you is _very much_ the same case as the pot and the kettle.”

If he’s bothered by the mild dressing down, Tetsurou certainly doesn’t show it. He slouches, just enough, just so Asahi _does_ have height and stature on him, and he replies, “Consider me warning in the form of example.”

“If you get killed for insubordination because of running your mouth, where would that place us?” Asahi unhappily points out. He slouches, too, not wanting to be the one stubbornly holding the high road any longer. They always fight like this. (As in, they don’t. Tetsurou knows when he’s fighting a losing battle, and Asahi never drags things out longer than they should.)

(They’re both kind, in their own way.)

 

—

 

Daichi tries to keep track of names. He’s good with people, usually, if he keeps his temper in check—but he isn’t so good with names. Historical facts he can keep straight with bigger-than-life personalities and dates attached (it’s just a matter of remembering emperors, kings, battles, cities razed to the ground), but everyday people, not so much.

Mercifully, much of the day-to-day staff know this about Daichi.

He’ll remember his favorite cook’s face, how she makes duck _just right_ so it doesn’t dry out, how her daughter is getting tutored in magic and the woman is so proud. He remembers guard rotations and who Tetsurou likes to moan and groan about the most. Daichi knows most of the researchers in the Royal Academy by face, and knows some of their areas of expertise.

But he blanks on many names.

Asahi or Tetsurou are there when foreign diplomats or nobles are concerned, and many of their own nobility are so eager to ingratiate themselves to the only Prince that they don’t terribly mind if Daichi stumbles occasionally. Daichi has many good qualities—even his father points them out, after all—but he has just as many faults, unfortunately many just as public as his better parts.

So it is unfortunately just another day when Daichi is stopped short by a pair of academics and he has no clue what their names are.

He _knows_ them. One is here on scholarship from a country far to the frozen north, and her hair is like starlight, but only half as striking as her mismatched eyes. Daichi agrees with Asahi that she is incredibly pretty. The other is one of their own citizens, and Daichi vividly remembers her nerves, the way she had dropped an armful of books the last time they’d passed by.

“Alisa,” the taller woman says with a charming smile. She’s taller than even Daichi. She tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

“A-Ah! I’m so sorry, my prince!” The tinier one hastens to bow and only ends up spilling a stack of papers across the carpet between them. “Oh no—I’m so—This is—”

“We’re terribly sorry, Prince Daichi,” Alisa says quietly as she stoops to help the blonde gather the papers. Daichi kneels too, despite the way the little one trembles even more. She won’t even make eye contact with him, whereas Alisa seems to have no such qualms. “I have heard that you are bad with names. No offense is taken, but we are very sorry to have inconvenienced you. You do not need to help!”

“You d-definitely don’t!” the tiny one squeaks. She sounds much like a mouse.

“It’s not an inconvenience.” He’d rather _remember her name_ , though. He’s starting to feel guilty, especially as her trembling worsens when their hands brush over a diagram of frogs. They have passed the point where it would be polite to ask for her name, and she’s so flustered it’s unlikely she’ll give it herself.

“Your Highness is very kind,” Alisa allows as soon as most of the papers are, if not back in the tiny woman’s arms, then at least closer to them than Daichi.

It’s clear she would like him to leave, so she can calm down her friend.

Daichi slinks off like a kicked dog, embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck.

“You know,” Asahi says when he finds him later, “most members of royalty don’t bother getting to know anyone who is not part of their immediate court. Most would consider that below them—they certainly wouldn’t deign to be embarrassed over something like forgetting a girl’s name.”

“You shouldn’t be so soft,” Daichi replies, to Asahi’s immediate dismay. “On me, or in general.”

“I was going to say that I couldn’t remember her name, either,” Asahi sulks, glaring at the far wall. “But I’m not sure why I should bother trying to comfort such a childish prince in my free time, anymore.”

“Your official station is my royal guard.”

“Yet somehow, that means I babysit you as well.”

Daichi would punch him if he were closer. Asahi wisely stays out of his range. “Advisor suits you better. Surely there is some part of that station that involves emotional welfare as well.” Daichi tries to imagine Tetsurou as the sole person in charge of his emotional welfare. He shudders.

“If I were to advise you outside of concerns with women,” Asahi drawls, confident with his safety for the time being, “I _would_ point out that you have gotten a response from Lord-General Oikawa this time. It would be wise to intercept the message and react before your father and King hears of how you circumvented him.”

Daichi leaps off of the cushions like he’d been stung by a bee. “How long were you waiting to tell me that?!” He swipes at Asahi as he storms past, but his guard ducks away with a wry, if feeble, chuckle.

His furious marching comes not from anger, but from raw excitement, despite how it must look to anyone glimpsing their Prince nearly sprinting through the castle with his Royal Guard barely on his heels. Daichi’s grinning, but, well, he knows how others view his grinning. Sometimes, he swears Asahi is the only one with a normal smile between them.

 

—

 

_To the Most Esteemed Highness Crown Prince Daichi of Amicora,_

 

He skips past the formalities. He knows his station. He knows how it must have seemed, to get a letter from the Crown Prince of the country you have been warring against for over a decade.

It isn’t outright dismissal. That’s the best news.

 

_We find it concerning to address His Highness Crown Prince instead of His Majesty the Sovereign King, but we respect your authority on behalf of your Royal Father and your Country._

 

Well, that was going to bite him in the ass sooner rather than later.

Daichi _may_ have gone beyond his father’s wishes and contacted what passes for a ruler in that far-off land. This is not his first attempt, but it is the first time he has gotten a response, and directly from the Lord-General herself. His heart seems ready to thrum out of his ribcage.

She has accepted. She has _accepted_.

But the Lord-General believes it on behalf of the King.

Daichi doesn’t look forward to that part.

_But she accepted_.

 

—

 

Daichi’s voice is hoarse from screaming and he’s certain his back will scar, but he has gained two very valuable pieces of information in the past day: his idea _will_ happen, and the King’s first choice of the Captain of the Royal Guard refused to flog the Crown Prince due to a conflict of interest.

Daichi is almost glad for his outspokenness, sometimes. He’s certainly glad that outsiders can have such views of the father/son clash as well, inasmuch as refusing to alienate Daichi. He doesn’t think he’d be so petty as to hold a grudge against someone following orders, but he does sometimes forget himself and what his crown truly entails.

Right now, laying motionless on his stomach on his bed, Daichi knows that the talks will happen. He has successfully invited their enemy into their home, in order to talk of finishing this foolish war once and for all. His father _must_ let it happen, or else every other country would know that the royal family fights within. That would be far worse than any supposed betrayal of Daichi’s.

His father values blood above all else, after all.

“I can’t believe you’re smiling,” Tetsurou says in a tight voice. He had been present for the whipping, as was Daichi’s right to have one of his own guards there.

(When his father had accused him of being soft on his ‘rightful’ guard, Daichi had pointed out that Tetsurou had been his guard all along. Their roles swap more often than the sun swaps for the moon, and the King nearly had Tetsurou whipped too for insubordination. Tetsurou knew the risk. They both knew they had to spare Asahi from this sight.)

“I won. They’ll send a few of their generals to speak with us about a treaty. I _won_ ,” Daichi rasps against the sheets. They were pristine when he arrived; now they’re streaked with his blood as the healer frets over his back.

“Discretion can be the better part of valor,” Tetsurou says with a sidelong look at the healer. “Winning is not something you ought to declare against your King, Daichi, unless your plans go deeper than trying to stop a war.”

Daichi stills.

Outspoken, temperamental, prone to forgetting names—he isn’t an usurper. Daichi is many things, but he does not wish his father genuine harm.

“Focus on healing up. You’ll have plenty of time to plan your fancy meeting and how you will woo these other leaders with your charming, guileless self when you’re hardly able to move from this,” Tetsurou advises. “I’ll fetch Asahi and let him know how you’re doing.”

Tetsurou continues staring daggers at the healer the entire way out. If the man notices, he has the sense not to comment upon it.

He waits until Tetsurou’s footfalls have long faded away before he quietly says, “Your guard is right to be suspicious, my lord, as you have more courage than sense at times. But I pride myself on not being a gossip. You do not have to worry about the King hearing any of your feverish prattling from me.”

“Feverish prattling,” Daichi laughs, then coughs into the sheets. He trails off with a weak wheeze. “Thank you, then. I wouldn’t want to question your professional opinion.”

He wishes he could remember this man’s name, the healer with the kind eyes and rough touch and proper discretion. He’s certain Tetsurou remembers him.

 

—

 

“And I quote, ‘while my son deals with his injuries, he will not be attending to any of his court duties’. That sounds like you’re locked away in your tower to me, which is not something I would put past the King, but I’m technically a neutral party, so surely he doesn’t mean _me_ when he says you need rest and solitude!”

Daichi grins. “You’re not a neutral party, Koutarou. You’re _our_ court witch.”

“Also,” Tetsurou adds, with a matching (if crooked) grin, “when our King says something like that, most would consider it a royal decree. That’s sort of how it works when he makes announcements to the nobility and staff both.”

Koutarou’s grin is, as always, enough to outshine both of them. “I like bein’ your court witch, but witches are still neutral parties! We’re supposed to see farther than human eyes, or something, right? Maybe I’m seeing an assassination attempt I’m bravely fighting off! I’ll be a hero _and_ a lawbreaker, then.”

“Why’d you really come up here, Kou? The tower isn’t exactly close to the Academy.”

Koutarou, despite being a prominent and valuable member of the court and functioning both as an enforcer and advisor, stays at the Royal Academy to study. It’s considered proper for the royal family to have the slightest bit of distance between themselves and any magical influences, after all. Nevermind that their official magical influence is currently in Daichi’s private chambers, cross-legged on his bed, drumming strange beats against Daichi’s shin.

He hasn’t offered to heal any of Daichi’s lingering wounds. Daichi can sit properly and even lay on his back without wishing to cry, but many movements are still beyond him. His bandages still must be changed daily, and he fears that the special tea he has been given to drink is beginning to wear off.

But he wouldn’t dare _ask_ the Royal Witch for help with such things. Even Daichi isn’t that dense.

“So how’re you going to deal with the foreign nationals?” Koutarou asks like he hadn’t even heard Tetsurou’s question. He leans forward, _well_ into Daichi’s space, and the gold in his eyes glitters better than anything Daichi has ever worn. “You don’t have a very impressive track record with such things, my prince. To my knowledge—which better be damn near perfect considering I’ve been at this station for longer than you’ve been alive—the only foreign nobility you have dealt with directly have been from allied nations, and only briefly, and never without your father present.”

“I’m not a child, Koutarou,” Daichi replies with all the dignity he could muster. Somehow, dignity never seems to matter much in front of the witch. Daichi slumps again, then immediately cringes forward as his back protests the movement. “They’re sending three of their Generals, including Lord-General Oikawa, plus a personal entourage. There will be no other nations present for this. I just have to deal with… them.”

“How _will_ that go, I wonder?” Tetsurou hums.

“I just have to make them see reason!” Daichi exclaims and clenches his fists against his thighs. Koutarou’s rhythm stops on his leg. “This war has gone on for far too long. My father’s pride is inexcusable, but if I could convince them that peace is the route to take, if I could draft up a treaty that, if they sign, my father couldn’t refuse…”

“Have you started drafting such a thing yet?” Koutarou asks with absolutely no malice intended whatsoever. It stings more for it.

“I’ve been reading up on how old treaties have been shaped, particularly those ending longer wars. Many of them came in times when one side had the clear upper hand, which is useless to me. I don’t want any reason for them to decline—I can’t just subjugate their people or ravage their lands like some pillaging victor.”

“How noble,” Koutarou says in that same bright voice he always uses when he’s delighted with Daichi. He used to find it patronizing, but he’s old enough that he knows Koutarou never means anything by it. Koutarou sometimes seems utterly incapable of such things.

Daichi also knows better than to believe that.

“We’ve been discussing different methods of drafting treaties with some of the scholars. Nekomata has been helpful, but he also doesn’t approve of Daichi handling these talks himself. He wants the King and the Royal Advisor to attend officially as the hosts.”

“That’s about what I heard,” Koutarou muses, with no explanation as to where he’d heard it. “But they know Prince Daichi contacted them, and they expect Prince Daichi to be the one they deal with. This could be a good opportunity if the King does allow his son to helm this.”

“What kind of good opportunity?” Daichi eagerly asks.

Koutarou cocks his head—a tad too steep of an angle for humans—and pretends to think. “Oh, hmm, who knows… This isn’t any kind of official advice, but from a political standpoint, they’d see you as less of a threat, you know? If your aim really is peace, then that would work in your favor.”

“He has a point. Don’t say anything against your father, but some contrast against the old warhound wouldn’t be a _bad_ thing,” Tetsurou muses. He sets his chin in his hand, and Daichi wishes he could move enough to smack him before he’d duck out of the way.

“You need to hold your tongue,” Koutarou says. He reaches over, grabs Tetsurou’s chin, and yanks him forward with frightening ease. “You’re cheeky and cute and daring, and you think this will protect you, but members of the royal family rarely have use for anyone who can’t read the mood.”

“Let him go, please,” Daichi says calmly. It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to ordering Koutarou around.

Thankfully, the witch is in a good enough mood to listen without argument. He releases Tetsurou and leans back, kicking his legs out, overlapping Daichi’s. “Daichi, just be careful advertising who your favorites are! Friends are important, but it’s easy for your father to punish them. Asahi barely avoided a whipping himself today!”

Daichi and Tetsurou both go pale. “He what?”

“Yeah, he was tryin’ to talk to some academic researchers or something, and he said it was for you. Probably related to that treaty stuff. Our dear King wasn’t too happy with that, but he got distracted by a witch, so your buddy got out just fine!”

“Oh, thank you,” Daichi says, relieved, hand pressed to his chest. He’d assumed that he was out of the woods now after his father’s punishment, but if the man were still irate… “Tetsurou, we must be more cautious in our research from now on. I don’t want you or Asahi going to the Academy yourselves anymore. Koutarou, thank you for your help.”

“I didn’t really do anything, but you’re welcome!” Koutarou chirps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi meets the Generals.


	2. by blood or by merit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi is not sure whether to be more wary of the ruthless, driven younger Oikawa or the precise, unknown Sugawara. 
> 
> When they catch him staring, both men smile.

Generals weren’t nobility, but they were as good as nobility in Setaria, and Daichi didn’t have many other options. He’d have to treat them like they were. That meant attention, lavish feasts and chambers, wide-eyed trust with a dagger hidden behind his back. He’d have to entertain as well as debate.

This kind of political maneuvering has never been his strong suit.

His guard/advisor duo, however, had this kind of thing as a special kind of strength.

Both of them were good with people, in different ways. Asahi was humble, gentle, unassuming. Tetsurou was charming, endearing, optimistic. Both could see through lies and deception, both had ways of reading people, both were wholly loyal to Daichi only. He had never been more thankful for their roles in his life.

He has less than a month until his guests were scheduled to arrive, and he still has to figure out where they could stay, how to entertain them with things other than peace talks, and _finish the damn treaty_. He has a solid draft. It covers land division, a future for renewed trade, alliances with other nations, reparations, and negotiation of war crimes. It was a very mild, very fair treaty.

There was _no conceivable way_ in which his father would consider such a document.

 _Unless_ it were already signed by his enemies.

Daichi would sign it first, as a show of faith in lasting peace between their countries, and hopefully that would earn enough trust returned for them to agree with him. At the very least, they had to hear him out. No one would travel for so long or so far just to spit in some prince’s face, right?

Well, he _is_ comparing them to nobles. So, yes. Unfortunately.

His own weight would have to be enough to sway these people, and their weight would have to be enough to sway his father. _It would have to work_. Daichi had no other choice but for this to work; if it didn’t, then his father would never listen to another thing he said. Who knows what the political repercussions could be.

“You need to figure out what to do with import taxes for both sides for the trade agreements,” Asahi murmurs as he reads over the documents for the thousandth time. Daichi feels like they all have it memorized by now.

“Shit,” Daichi sighs, softly, and fetches the errand boy to bring back the books on trade.

 

—

 

“Why can’t I just walk up to these people and say, ‘Hello, I’d _really love it_ if this stupid war were over, how about you’? It’d save us all some time, and money, and we could pull back our armies faster!”

“You’re drunk, mind your tongue.”

“ _You’re_ drunk!” Daichi snarls.

“You’re an angry drunk,” Tetsurou amends.

“We know you’re stressed,” Asahi begins, but Daichi sends him a sharp enough glower to have him cower away from the rest of that sentence.

Who cares if he’s stressed? _Yes_ , he is under significant amounts of stress. _Yes_ , he should not be drinking tonight when they’re expecting the entourage tomorrow. _Yes_ , he’s going to be complaining about his headache for ages, and yes he’ll regret it.

But tonight, tonight is still his. He’s still just Daichi, with his closest friends, in the privacy of his own chambers. He isn’t the Crown Prince in front of enemy forces. He isn’t some silver-tongued royal with his latest political ploy. He isn’t in over his head, or trying too hard, or liable to worsen a war.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to be a delight,” Tetsurou drawls in that horrible accent.

“You’re going to have to speak properly tomorrow,” Daichi shoots back.

“Worry more about either of you two retching on someone’s polished boots. Asahi from nerves, or you from this rum.”

“You’re worried too, even if you hide it beneath layers of snark,” Asahi informs him, and Tetsurou’s smirk strains at the corners.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

Daichi vows to be the least worried of them. Perhaps, if he’s extremely lucky, he’ll still be drunk tomorrow when greeting everyone.

 

—

 

The King and Prince stand shoulder to shoulder to greet their guests. It is unspeakably reassuring to have his father beside him, no matter his relationship with the man, if only as a symbol of the legitimacy of Daichi’s plan. He _can_ do this. He _will_.

Yet some of his bravado admittedly falls away when Lord-General Oikawa first strides into the room on the heels of her guard.

The military commander of Setaria has more presence than anyone else Daichi has met in his life. For not being of noble blood, she carries herself more highly than any royal Daichi has seen, but he senses confidence, not arrogance, to prove herself worthy of her aura. She’s tall for a woman, with chestnut brown hair tied into a tight braid, and severe lines in her face betraying age, wisdom, but most of all, the ability to survive any ordeal. The scar that winds through her left brow across the bridge of her nose further proves this.

He’s unaware he’s holding his breath until the woman is almost even with them.

Her formal uniform is all clean, pressed lines, not the barest hint to tell of the long journey here. The Setarian uniform is mostly black (something his father has had many remarks upon), only accented in green and blue in the trim and the crisp collar beneath her coat. Not a button nor hair is out of place, and her cape is only unfastened to the point where she may easily move her arms without upsetting the line of the clothing. 

“Lord-General Oikawa.” Daichi hastens into a bow, perhaps deeper than he should for a foreign leader in his home, and his mantle falls forward around him. The woman commands respect. He wonders if he fears her. “It is a privilege and an honor to have your presence for this summit.”

The King takes a measured pause before addressing her, despite the rules of civility. Daichi remains in his too-steep bow. “…Nanashi,” he says at last. No title, for an even longer beat. Daichi can feel himself sweat. “It has been some time, Lord-General. My son is right—it is truly an honor to have you step foot upon our soil as a guest, instead of dripping blood across our threshold as a conqueror.”

Daichi is going to bite his tongue off.

He must have misheard his father, surely.

No matter their spats in the past, he would never do this to his own son—he would never be able to fix this kind of insult, delivered to her face, from the King. The peace talks were crumbling before Daichi’s eyes, and he’d only said one sentence to the woman.

“Masakazu, you are as much of a bastard now as when you took the throne,” the Lord-General replies with a smile like a wild fox. “You’re so ready to throw your only child to the wolves in the name of having a reason for more bloodshed. Your use of language is only comparable to your cruelty.”

Daichi tips his head back, unable to process hearing _that_ , either. He’s so used to false pleasantries, niceties and lies hand in hand, politics coming before any personal feelings. He’d sooner believe the sky has turned green before hearing any _directly_ poisonous words out of leaders’ mouths.

Behind him, Tetsurou begins laughing.

It’s his ugly, terrible snorting that’s like a retching, drunken hyena. Daichi has heard more attractive donkeys. It's that particular laugh because this very moment cannot possibly get worse. Daichi has never felt more out of his depth before; he’s aware now that his father has played him, that Daichi is in no way prepared to actually go through with this, is completely unable to candidly deal with a woman like Lord-General Oikawa.

And just as Daichi wonders the fastest and most dignified route out of the room, because escape is preferable if it gives him the slightest chance to regroup and _breathe_ for a moment, Daichi’s day gets worse.

Because the other country did not send just one of its Generals, but three.

Daichi recognizes one of the men immediately as Lord-General Oikawa’s only son: Tooru. He’s young, but accomplished, and many say he’s even sharper than his elder sister. The Oikawa family is the closest thing Setaria has to a royal family, which means that Daichi is on par with consulting with a queen and a prince.

Except this prince has already fought a war Daichi only knows from the safety of the capital. This prince has commanded armies and shed blood himself. This prince has won his title through his own merit, not by birthright.

He knows of the third General, too, although not as much. He is the second-youngest of the ruling council, and newest raised to the position. His wartime record is short, but terrifyingly polished—yet little could compare to matching the name to the face.

General Sugawara of the western army. If Daichi’s memory serves, he is the one who routed their own army last autumn and decimated two battalions. It had been his first time directly engaging them.

Daichi is not sure whether to be more wary of the ruthless, driven younger Oikawa or the precise, unknown Sugawara.

When they catch him staring, both men smile.

 

—

 

In accordance with the agreed-upon rules of decorum for the peace talks, the envoy from Setaria are housed in their own wing of the palace. Members of their guard are allowed to carry short swords and pistols. Each of the Generals are allowed to budget their own time at their leisure, and are allowed to refuse any and all requests Daichi or the King make of them. In addition to a handful of retainers, they have also brought their own chef, who is allowed access to the largest kitchens and may prepare their own meals.

In accordance with these rules, they did not bring any witches or magic, nor will they interact with Koutarou.

The Generals must also wear magicked cuffs. Koutarou had made them himself, and they force the bearer not to lie. If one wearing them should lie, then the cuffs would immobilize them. Revoking the lie with the truth, or the touch of one of the royal family, would turn off the spell.

They are allowed to freely move about the palace, and all of the staff have been informed of this. They cannot access the Royal Academy by themselves, and if they must leave the palace, they are to be escorted by one of the Royal Guard.

The Amorican King and Prince, during their stay, will also have at least one member of the Guard with them at all times. Even in wartime, the palace is usually a lax place, and while Daichi values Tetsurou and Asahi, he’s not used to needing their company instead of preferring it.

The Lord-General Oikawa has already agreed to meet with Daichi “as much as the whelp would like”. It’s a terrifying decree. The other two Generals have not yet said much to Daichi directly; they politely begged out of initial talks to rest from their trip, and the King had let them go after a few more parting barbs with the Lord-General. (Daichi will address _that_ later.)

So Daichi will get his talks, in some form. But first, preparation—and adjustment.

“Where is that errand boy?” Daichi says, nearly trembling with his need to _move_. He needs to move, to run, to fight, to do _something_. He needs to be doing more than poring over history and tax textbooks once more. But what else _can_ he do? His father knew how Lord-General Oikawa was going to handle matters, and did not deign to warn him. Daichi already made a fool of himself. He needs to make sure there are no more surprises, and he needs to try to dig out the truth of the Generals from mere text.

“You’re going to give yourself a nosebleed,” Asahi says and pushes Daichi back down into a plush chair. Daichi grips at the arms to steady himself. “There is nothing that happened that anyone else didn’t expect, so while your pride is wounded, there is no great loss. The Lord-General already believes you to be a loudmouthed boy, so nothing you said today ruined that image of you.”

Daichi would bite him if he could. He grits his teeth until his jaw aches. “My father made a mockery of me. He knew, he _knew_ what she was like!”

“She didn’t take offense to his words,” Asahi soothes. His hands remain on Daichi’s shoulders, and after a thoughtful pause, he digs his thumbs in on either side of Daichi’s spine. He can’t help but melt, very much against his will. “So what if you weren’t prepared for their existing relations. Perhaps this is better than outright hostility?”

“It _is_ outright hostility!”

“You always say you prefer honesty in politics. The Lord-General speaks her mind, and she would value you speaking yours. This could benefit you, my prince.”

“Or she came all this way to laugh at the fledgling prince.”

“Then why bring two more Generals?”

There are ten Generals in the council, and three of them are here. It’s no small show of—what, Daichi isn’t sure anymore. No one would invest that much in a cruel joke, even against enemies; it’s too much of a risk, especially with Oikawa and her son here. The two youngest Generals may be politically new and comparably less valuable, but the Lord-General herself?

It _must_ be a show of goodwill for talks of peace. It must be. Daichi needs to believe he still has a chance, but he is good at believing in himself when it counts.

The door swings open after a swift kick. “I come bearing gifts for our Prince!” Tetsurou announces as he staggers into the room, absolutely laden with books.

The page Daichi had originally sent comes in behind him, glancing unsurely at Tetsurou’s back, carrying his own pile of books. It’s certainly more than Daichi had requested. As Tetsurou drops his heap onto the sturdy desk before Daichi, he recognizes a few: histories of other countries, military reports, encyclopedias on trade.

The errand boy drops off his stack with far more respect than Tetsurou had given Daichi or the books. He won’t make eye contact, repeatedly glancing at Tetsurou, and fidgets with his long, loose hair.

“I thought I told you not to go to the Academy by yourself anymore,” Daichi says evenly, and inclines his head toward the one he’d _actually_ sent to fetch these.

“And I thought I would save us all the trouble of multiple trips. I know what you’re most likely to agonize over, and with your father so distracted by foreign commanders in the palace, I know he won’t bother with me,” Tetsurou replies with a proud smirk. “You’re welcome, Daichi.”

“You forget yourself.”

“You’re welcome, Prince.”

Daichi sighs, long and hard. He dismisses the page, and misses the cheeky little wave Tetsurou gives him on the way out.

 

—

 

Daichi finds the kitchens in discreet chaos.

He had sullenly sent for a meal to be brought to him in his chambers, since he still has much to read and prepare for, but the quiet page had come back empty-handed and pale in the face. “My prince may wish to visit the kitchen himself,” was all he’d say.

He finds several people he knows to be cooks and bakers in the hallways, wandering lost, leading to the area. Outside the main doors—uncharacteristically closed—he finds another little knot, gossiping amongst themselves with the kind of desperation Daichi normally only sees when prospects for his marriage come up.

He also finds one of the guards for the Generals.

So he knows who’s inside, then. Well, he doesn’t know which guard belongs to which General just yet, as to his knowledge none of them have left their wing and most of the servants are too terrified to go there unless with a direct order and reason, but that’s certainly not a familiar uniform. Too much black and too many cool colors. 

And the man doesn’t scatter with embarrassment like many of the cooks do in his presence. He’s tall, at least Tetsurou’s height, which is not a common thing to see. The man possesses none of Tetsurou’s inadvertent bravado, however, and in fact looks _quite_ tired with his station. Inappropriately so.

Daichi isn’t certain how to address him, and it’s too late to back away, as the man’s eyes have already found him. Perhaps it’d be best to wait for the guard to address _him_? That’d be the proper thing.

Except the dark-haired man says nothing to him. Daichi’s left staring foolishly, expectantly, for something that never comes. Asahi fidgets behind him, and clears his throat pointedly, but still the foreign guard holds his tongue.

Daichi will not announce himself like he’s aiming to startle misbehaving trainees. If the guard won’t address him, then he’ll just wander into the kitchen and deal with whatever General he finds there, and it will be awkward but at least perhaps he will be able to better gauge who he will be dealing with. It certainly cannot be worse than what he’s already suffered.

Asahi pulls open the doors for him, and Daichi strides in with all the purpose and import his station deserves.

And the wind just as abruptly leaves his sails when he realizes what he’s seeing: not one, but _two_ Generals are inside. Gone are the uniforms and accoutrements, the proper airs and the proper hair and the proper disposition. Both are dressed in simple breeches and loose, billowy shirts, and Tooru has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His accomplice, Koushi, is smiling more widely than Daichi has ever seen in reports or commissioned portraits.

Both are covered in flour.

“Ah, you got past your nerves outside, did you?” Tooru asks, not with a leer, but with an airy laugh hardly interrupted by his words. He flicks hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head, then gives Daichi a smirk bordering on… sultry?

“We were wondering whose attention we would garner first, or if we would escape the day with no further suspicion or mockery,” Koushi adds. He wipes his wrist across his forehead, smearing the patches of flour up into the hair nearly the same shade, and finishes it with a tuck of a loose curl behind his ear. The only halfway stately thing he’s wearing seem to be his earrings, small hoops of silver with red pendants dangling from them.

Everything else seems to suggest they’d rolled out of bed and commandeered the kitchens with hardly a thought in their pretty heads.

“What are you doing?” Daichi asks on sheer reflex. There are no titles or civilities attached, only raw confusion.

“Baking!” Tooru says brightly.

“Attempting to. As it turns out, lavish upbringings do not tend to reward children with many skills relating to cookery,” Koushi gently but smartly chides. He leans far across the counter and wipes a dollop of sticky dough off of Tooru’s cheek.

The taller of the Generals scowls, goodnaturedly, and rubs the same cheek to make sure it’s all gone.

The magical cuff on his exposed wrist draws Daichi’s eye.

“We’re not lying to you,” Tooru says, noticing Daichi’s attention, and holds up both of his hands for Daichi to inspect the cuffs.

The only time Koushi’s smile has dimmed thus far is when he fidgets, a half-second long enough for Daichi to notice, hesitating to do the same. “You don’t need to prove yourselves to me,” Daichi replies. “I trust you both.”

“Not the wisest words, but we’ve already seen firsthand how freely you dispense pretty, proper words,” Tooru says. Daichi burns, even if nothing outright hostile was in Tooru’s tone. “Tell me, Your Highness, do you prefer sweet things or spicy things?”

“Neither,” Daichi honestly replies with a furrow in his brow. “If you have any sort of craving, you could have told the palace staff to cook for you. Or your personal chef.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Daichi doesn’t understand this. He doesn’t understand why two Generals of the opposing army would stoop so low as to pretend play in a foreign kitchen in front of the Crown Prince. If it’s meant to be disarming, it isn’t working. “What are you making?” he tries again.

“Yeah, Tooru, what are you making?” Koushi asks with a menacing smirk as he leans even further across the counter. He’s more laying on it than standing anymore. Daichi does not know what to make with the presented image, though he does have a kneejerk appreciative response for the man’s legs. Platonically. “For whom are you cooking, exactly?”

Tooru does not respond.

Daichi doesn’t understand why—why hold his tongue on that matter, when he’s so keen on trying to put on a show?—until Koushi explains, “He came here under the guise of creating some awful sweet treat for himself, but in actuality, he’s trying to bake something for me. He’s already made a fool of himself once trying to lie about it.”

“You could have asked the palace staff,” Daichi repeats, more confused than ever.

“And miss the chance to explore the palace? Unlikely,” Tooru scoffs. It makes sense for them both to want a better sense of the layout, but the answer had come too easily.

For two men wearing truth-telling artifacts, Daichi finds he doesn’t believe either of them very much. Maybe his earlier words about trusting them were a lie—maybe he ought to be the one wearing the cuffs.

Daichi declines to eat with them, worried about what the General is trying to make as soon as the kitchens begin to take on the distinct smell of burnt spices, and unable to stomach the light, playful way they treat the afternoon. It’s not disarming, and it doesn’t humanize them any more than before; if anything, Daichi thinks _less_ of them, for feeling the need to put on some sort of childish act in the first place.

It’s only as he’s leaving that he notices the second guard, stationed inside the kitchen with them. He hasn’t addressed Daichi either, but at least he looks slightly more conscious than the one outside the doors. The man’s face is like stone, at least until Daichi is turning to leave.

Then the impassive man with the strawberry blonde hair _winks_ at him.

 _They’re all in on it_ , Daichi realizes, and does not deign to comment, though it would be well within his rights. What would he complain about? They’re overly friendly and are putting on a ruse that doesn’t work, and it wounds Daichi’s pride that they would bother. _Is that why they sent the younger Generals?_ Not because they consider the Crown Prince less of a threat, but because they consider him easier to sway?

He’ll figure out a way to turn this to his advantage, yet.

It isn’t until they’re back in his private chambers, without the food he’d wanted, that Daichi notices how ashen Asahi looks. At his concerned questioning, Asahi only responds, “They smelled like blood.”

 

—

 

Despite his father’s long list of military accomplishments, both from his youth and from the current war their country is embroiled in, the King forbade Daichi from ever serving. Not even as an officer, tucked away in tents far from any active fields. Daichi received an honorary rank when he turned sixteen, and another at eighteen, and he’ll likely receive more as he grows and as long as his father continues to distance him.

Some nobles have enjoyed assuming this to be his father’s method of coddling him. Others have spoken behind fans and closed doors that this is his father’s method of keeping Daichi from gaining further support or power.

Daichi knows it’s neither.

His father doesn’t believe him to be of any use on the battlefield.

As such, he has never served, and his father doesn’t think much of the fact that Tetsurou hasn’t, either. Tetsurou was Daichi’s own pick, completely independent of the King.

Asahi, however, was not.

Asahi has served, and has seen battle.

He doesn’t speak much of it, and generally Daichi and Tetsurou do not bring the matter up. Daichi has seen the scars, both physical and mental. Asahi can’t stand the sight or smell of blood, and he does not resort to violence except as a last resort. He has excellent reflexes, muscle gained from use and knowledge rather than practice, and a truly sharp mind for strategy. While Tetsurou is taller, Asahi is one of the largest men either of them have ever known.

Daichi defers to him when it comes to rare matters of battle.

He knows the visiting Generals have experience he could only ever dream of. Tooru is younger than he is, only by a space of months, but the knowledge is sobering. Koushi is only three years older if records are to be believed. These men, the playful pretty men who seemed _so_ keen on their childish antics, have blood on their hands and knowledge of violence and war that Daichi cannot comprehend.

He doesn’t underestimate them, and he doesn’t fear them. But he carries himself a little more carefully from then on, and first invites the Lord-General to dinner.

 

—

 

Daichi tastes the food first, though it’s foreign and strange to him. He’d asked the cooks to prepare dishes from the north, from Setaria and even further, as a gesture of friendship toward his guest tonight. He does not ask anyone else to taste for poison; he trusts his staff, and he wants the Lord-General to trust him as well, so the Crown Prince is the first to eat from each dish.

She seems amused, but in a genuine way rather than mocking.

He takes it as a good sign.

“His Majesty the King won’t be joining us?” Lord-General Oikawa asks.

“No, he won’t.”

“I wouldn’t lie and say it’s a pity. I’m very glad for the chance to enjoy your company without your father’s presence,” she says and the fact that it’s the truth makes Daichi swallow nervously. A good sign, a good sign. “Your palace is beautiful as always. We don’t have many comparable examples of architecture in Setaria.”

“It is very kind of you to say, Lord-General. I hope you enjoy your stay and enjoy the palace fully.”

Her smile terrifies Daichi. “I _would_ enjoy that.”

He quickly shoves as much pheasant into his mouth as is politely allowed. The Lord-General sips at her wine while examining paintings along the wall. She doesn’t bother to mask her mild interest. Daichi believes that she would act exactly the same even without the cuffs on her wrists, hidden by the sleeves of her uniform.

Unlike her son, Daichi hasn’t seen her change out of official dress yet. This is not the dress uniform she first arrived in, but it’s certainly not relaxed wear. The woman is still perfectly coiffed and pressed, but now she has apparently decided to mark the evening by wearing earrings and a single ornamental ring. They aren’t dining in the main hall, but one of the private parlors, a late meal shared quietly and comfortably.

Or as comfortably as the Lord-General ever seems to be, and as comfortably as Daichi can be while struggling not to choke himself on roasted pheasant.

It’s a gamey bird. He doesn’t particularly care for it.

“I hope you wouldn’t mind my initiative, Lord-General, but I would like to better get to know you,” Daichi says after he has steeled his nerves once more.

The woman’s face remains impassive, but this is not the great, grand hall where there is so much space between them. They are just near enough that Daichi catches the way her breath hitches.

Lord-General Oikawa sets her goblet back down. “And why is that?” she evenly asks.

“You’ve known my father for many years, even before this war. You have a long enough memory to not be only tainted by this war between our nations.”

“Unlike you?”

“Unlike myself, and unlike the two Generals that have accompanied you.”

Lord-General Oikawa smiles, and it’s only scarcely less terrifying than before. Her eyes narrow, and she tells him, “General Sugawara has less than two years to that title. My son is younger than even you. They have not fought in all fourteen years of this war.”

“But they’ve known this war for more than half of their lives.” Daichi does not point out that Tooru was born into the Oikawa house, and thus in some sense _has_ been around warfare all his life. Lord-General Oikawa likely notices his omittance anyway. “You know peace in a manner we simply don’t. You know the truer value in it, compared to what you must assume are the naive ideals of an untested prince.”

It’s bait, and she must respond. She cannot lie about what she thinks about Daichi’s ‘naive ideals’, and she mulls over her next words while swirling the wine in her goblet. “…Forgive me if I must take more time to choose my words than I am accustomed to,” she says at length, “but some things, even honest, are better not said aloud.”

He had feared as much, but Daichi does not let it show on his face. At least he knows what he’s up against now.

“Do not mistake me. There is nothing I want more for my country than lasting peace.” Her voice is almost as hard as her eyes, glittering diamonds. Daichi cannot help the shiver up his spine. “I have known your father since we were both young, far younger than you now, and I know what he and I both are capable of. I do not yet know what _you_ are capable of, just as you do not know what _I_ am capable of. I would love to work with you, Highness. But I am not yet certain as to _how_ I can do that.”

Daichi swallows, and nods. Not a word of that had been a lie. “I respect that, Lord-General. I hope we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement in coming time.”

She nods in return.

Everything looks a bit brighter, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi isn't certain how, but he ends up giving what has been termed _romantic tours_.


	3. good blood cannot lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luckily, Koushi seems just as keen to make conversation as Daichi. “Would it be rude to ask for a personal tour? Perhaps during daylight hours?” Daichi can just barely see the way his eyes sparkle with the invitation.
> 
> “I would be honored. I could still show you some of it tonight, if you’d like?”
> 
> “Yes! Show me the reason you were out here so late.”

Daichi means to separate the two younger Generals—whom he has inadvertently met with more than once, causing mild havoc around the palace, but always together with their stoic set of guards—for private dinners like he had with the Lord-General. It would be the safer, wiser course of action, and let him better get a grasp on how to handle them. The Lord-General is his main concern, of course, but Setaria is ruled by a council, not one woman. If he means to ingratiate himself, he must befriend all three.

Recorded history is sparse on the youngest Oikawa, and sparser still on Koushi. Much of Tooru’s information is secondhand—he grew up within his mother’s, and later sister’s, light, mentioned frequently but with little personal depth. Daichi knows much of his schooling, early scandals, and fashion choices through the years thanks to a life spent in the public eye and a particularly doting mother.

He learns more about the Lord-General than Tooru, frankly.

Koushi, on the other hand, is a blank slate. The only reports on him are full of retroactive filling in of the unknown history when he had first been promoted to the rank of General and became part of the ruling council. Even prior ranks are difficult to find information on. His military exploits, however formidable, are comparatively few, and had been quick, clean victories for the most part. Nothing drawn-out or grueling. He only had one official portrait commissioned when he had first been promoted, and although technically it is certainly of the same man now attending Daichi’s peace summit, it really isn’t.

The official portrait of the General: full regalia, stone-faced, hair pulled back from his face, eyes cold, and mouth a grim line.

The man haunting his kitchens and corridors: fluffy-haired, smiling, sparkly-eyed, and dressed simply in little more than underclothes.

At least Tooru has an existing reputation as a walking scandal. Koushi is simply a mystery, with a fine layer of contradiction on top like icing on a cake.

Daichi would be embarrassed to admit it (which is why he doesn’t, not even to his closest advisors and friends), but something about that lack of information captivates him. Daichi loves a good story, and he loves a good mystery. He cannot claim it is simply curiosity, defensive or otherwise.

He wonders what they have read about _him_.

 

—

 

“ _Kenma_ , my lord,” Tetsurou drones without looking up from his book. It’s the third time today Daichi has heard those stupidly long vowels spin into that name. “His name is Kenma. Stop calling him errand boy.”

“You know he’s bad with names,” Asahi gently rebukes. He also doesn’t look up. His hair is sloppily pulled back with the late hour, and instead of retying it, he continually sweeps it back from his vision with increasing aggravation. The dancing firelight does little to improve how menacing he looks, glaring down at the book in his lap. “You ought to give him a rest, it’s late. You ought to give _yourself_ a rest. Have you even realized how late it is?”

“It _must_ be late, if Asahi’s grumpy,” Tetsurou says, and sighs. He closes his book with a muted _snap_. “As your advisor, it is my official duty to advise you to _sleep_ , Daichi.”

Kenma, the boy with the braid, fidgets at the doorway.

“That means you can finally go to sleep, too,” Tetsurou kindly adds.

Daichi debates the merit of throwing his own book at Tetsurou’s head, but that would likely get him nowhere. “I know how to approach the Lord-General and her son now—”

“Even if you haven’t yet.”

Daichi _firmly_ debates the merits of throwing his book at his advisor’s head. “—but I don’t know what to do with General Sugawara. I can’t rely on the other two to convince him. I need some way to approach him myself.”

“He hasn’t been a General very long. It’s possible he doesn’t see any appeal in a lengthier war, either,” Asahi tiredly says. He groans a little when he closes his book and rests his head upon it.

“Or he could desire a longer one to prove his worth and maintain his status,” Daichi groans. “His wartime tactics do not favor unnecessary bloodshed, but how can you judge a man by half a dozen victories?”

“What about his losses?”

“Loss. Singular,” Daichi corrects. That almost annoys him more than anything else. Who the hell had that spotless of a military record, even if it were so short? “The Lord-General is quick to enact revenge but is also quick to cut losses. General Oikawa is cautious, yet prefers risky traps to long campaigns, and twice has engaged opposing officers in duels of honor in an effort to thwart massive losses by the army. I can handle aggression or ego—I can’t handle a man who hardly _exists_!”

“You can go,” Tetsurou repeats to the twitchy page. “Goodnight!”

Kenma doesn’t say a word as he ducks out the door. It _must_ be late if he left without a dismissal from the prince—or perhaps Daichi looks as scary as Asahi.

“You’re going to bed now, my prince,” Tetsurou commands as well as any royal. He stands, stretches to his full height, and shoves his own unruly hair back from his face. It falls nearly lank around his ears, in his eyes, in the way. At least Asahi ties his back. “Stop critiquing my hair and put your studies in some semblance of order you’ll recognize in the morning.”

“Critiquing?”

“You’ve been narrating most of your thoughts for the past hour,” Asahi says flatly. “It began as muttering, and now we all know how obsessed you are with General Sugawara.”

“I’m not _obsessed_.”

“You have dinner scheduled with General Oikawa and another tour scheduled for the Lord-General. You have yet to approach General Sugawara. I would say you’re intimidated, but I don’t think you scare so easily with nothing to back it up.” Asahi delivers his analysis in a perfect drone, then he too stands to stare down his nose at Daichi. He _does_ look grumpy.

“I’m a good judge for character,” Daichi replies, defensive. He’s not certain why, entirely. “I need to figure out what kind General Sugawara has.”

“You could talk to him,” Tetsurou suggests. “ _Without_ getting that blank stare you usually wear around any of the Generals.”

“Before all else, we are all going to _sleep_. Tetsurou has the first morning watch, and you have a tea time tour to give to the Lord-General,” Asahi says.

“Don’t drag me into this. I don’t need an entire month to sleep like you two.”

“I will sleep now,” Daichi says, groaning in defeat, just to please them. They both smile. Because they’re like that, unfortunately. “Back to your quarters, both of you. Takanobu has the watch right now, correct? I’ll be fine.”

In their younger years, or deeper in the winter months, it’s not rare that they would all share Daichi’s large bed. But propriety must be maintained now, and knowing Daichi’s luck with the two younger Generals, they would catch Tetsurou and Asahi leaving Daichi’s chambers at too-early hours.

Despite his grumbling, Asahi helps Daichi change into his bedclothes, another token from their younger years. (Even then, Daichi had certainly been old enough to dress himself even when tired, but something about taking care of the child prince had soothed Asahi.) Tetsurou makes sure to douse the lamps on his way out, to discourage further reading, likely because he knows Daichi too well.

Daichi waits until he can hear the heavy _thumps_ of their boots disappear into the night. Then, he waits a little longer.

Takanobu is a good man and a good guard, but he does not know the Crown Prince half as well as Daichi’s preferred personal guards. This late night rotation is lax inside the palace, and Daichi knows the guard routes by heart. He waits until the corridor is clear before slipping out.

He doesn’t mean to stay up much later, but it is within his rights to do so, certainly. He _is_ the Prince. He could hypothetically do almost anything he wishes. And right now, Daichi wishes to take a walk in the nearer gardens, to clear his head and calm himself down. He doesn’t wish to be disturbed, and there would be no threats from inside the palace.

Even if he has foreign leaders there right now.

No one would be so foolish as to attack a prince in his own home when it would be so obvious the culprit—even if someone were to try to frame their guests, there’s still the matter that no one would be able to make it into the palace. Daichi has every reason to feel secure. His only worry is dodging guard rotations and ensuring no one notices his absence.

Daichi has almost made it to his favorite set of willow trees when a hand taps his shoulder.

He jumps—how could he not?—and swears like a drunk soldier. Daichi whirls around, expecting to have to muster up a way to chastise a guard who is only doing their job, but instead comes nose-to-nose with General Sugawara.

“Those are some reflexes you have there,” he says, innocently, both hands in the air to show he means no harm. Daichi is glad for the dark of the night to hide the furious heat that rushes to his cheeks.

“I didn’t—I didn’t hear you approach. I apologize for my language,” Daichi forces out.

“Forgive me for saying, Highness, but it is painfully obvious you are used to traveling with guards. You ought not to let strangers sneak up on you in the dead of night. What if I were armed?” Koushi is dressed sloppily in the remains of his dress uniform: his black vest is unbuttoned, as is his coat, his breeches aren’t quite correct, and he’s missing his boots _entirely_. He carries no lamp, and as his hands are up, palms toward Daichi, he can see no easy weapons in sight.

In other circumstances, and perhaps if he were a cruder man, he would point out the implications of Koushi’s half-dressed state this late at night. But he would also have to explain why _he_ is out of bed in his bedclothes, too, and Daichi would prefer not to.

So he opts for something lighter, something cheeky. Something Tetsurou would say as a deflection. “Why, do you have a weapon?”

And Koushi deflects in turn. He lowers his arms, offers Daichi half a grin, and replies, “You’re lucky I am not a stranger here to stab you in the dead of night, Your Highness. But I would be remiss if I were not to offer you protection against other threats.”

Being that he had already been startled once tonight, Daichi does not tempt fate further by claiming there would be none. He’s certain Koutarou is laughing at him, wherever he is squirreled away. “I would gladly accept your company, General.”

Koushi loops their arms together, to Daichi’s pleasure and surprise, but allows Daichi to lead them. This close, Daichi can feel the heat of his body, another pleasant shock; he hadn’t noticed how chilled he’d gotten from his nocturnal jaunt until then. So Daichi allows the contact.

“These are very pretty gardens,” Koushi remarks, though he certainly can’t see them very well. The only light comes from the moon and the distant lamps lining the palace’s entrances, but their eyes have already adjusted as much as they could. “I’d love to see them again during the day, of course. I read that these were commissioned by your great grandmother?”

“Ah, yes. It was a wedding present for her eldest daughter, who had been living here at the time…” Daichi has learned his family’s proud history since birth, and he knows many of his citizens have as well, but it’s strange hearing it in the soft sounds of Koushi’s accent.

His consonants aren’t as harsh as the Lord-General’s or her son’s, and there’s something faintly familiar in it, but the way his mouth curls around the long vowels is certainly Setarian. His voice is almost melodious, and Daichi would enjoy hearing more, so he wonders how to make the most of this sudden but fortuitous situation.

Luckily, Koushi seems just as keen to make conversation as Daichi. “Would it be rude to ask for a personal tour? Perhaps during daylight hours?” Daichi can just barely see the way his eyes sparkle with the invitation.

“I would be honored. I could still show you some of it tonight, if you’d like?”

“Yes! Show me the reason you were out here so late.”

With a happy hum, Koushi presses even closer to Daichi. If anyone were around to see them, they’d certainly be the gossip of the staff for the next month solid. Daichi rarely consorts with others, and generally does not entertain forward advances.

He isn’t certain why he is, now.

_I want to know more about him_ , he tells himself, but he doesn’t have to force himself to smile. Despite Koushi’s boldness, Daichi enjoys these gardens, and enjoys them more with company. “When I was younger, I would hide beneath these willow trees and pretend no one could find me. My mother humored me.” His father, of course, did not. But the memory is only tinged with fondness.

“Precious,” Koushi comments. “The Queen is… gone, correct?”

As if a General of the opposing army wouldn’t know that the last queen’s death had largely begun the war they’re striving to end. Daichi hopes Koushi is just trying to be polite. “Yes. What about yourself? You don’t seem to be as used to attention as General Oikawa.”

“That isn’t difficult.”

Daichi manages to bite back his laugh, even if it _is_ true. “Tell me a bit about yourself?”

Koushi glances away, though his arm tightens around Daichi’s. He seems to be trying very hard to appear embarrassed. Daichi doesn’t know why.

But he’s tired, and the kinder part of himself wins out against the need for further information. “Just what you’d like. I don’t mean this to be an interrogation.”

“Well, I’m certainly not royalty,” Koushi briskly begins, “or nobility. I actually wasn’t born or raised in the capital, unlike Tooru. I’m new to this position and the, ah, lifestyle it affords.”

It’s a strange notion to grasp; Daichi has been around nobles and royalty all his life. His only dealings with the common people have been to listen to petitions with (or instead of) his father. “There isn’t anything wrong with enjoying newfound luxury. I hope you partake in what we offer here as well—I’d love for you to appreciate my country and culture as well.”

“How very diplomatic of you,” Koushi replies. His smile dampens slightly. “One thing that has truly been a shock for me is the climate. It’s so warm here! And you—it’s hardly a cold night, but I can feel you shivering against me. One wouldn’t think that such a big man would be so prone to the chill.”  

Daichi does not have much height on Koushi, but he has to agree that he has a larger frame than he—a fact made more apparent when Koushi shrugs off his coat and drapes it over Daichi’s shoulders. It covers him well enough, but he could tell that his shoulders wouldn’t fit were he to wear it properly, so Daichi allows the thick fabric to warm him, just for a heartbeat, before a sense of decorum comes back to him.

“Oh, ah, I-I couldn’t—”

“I can handle the cold a far sight better than a southern prince,” Koushi says with a wink.

“This is really not necessary,” Daichi tries again to _try_ to salvage his shredded dignity. What would someone think, if they were to see them now: both of them in suspicious states of undress, Koushi barefoot, Daichi in the General’s uniform coat— _the enemy General’s uniform_.

Koushi does not argue this time when Daichi whips the coat off and shoves it back at him. (He looks even more disheveled in his shirtsleeves and rumpled, unbuttoned vest, sans any semblance of uniform, but does not look confused. Daichi isn’t certain what he’d do with that image if he had.)

“That would be improper,” Daichi clearly states. Koushi’s face does not change—no disappointment or further teasing.

“I’m not offended. I understand. I took this too far.” He bows, and his hair falls forward to further obscure his flat expression. “I apologize, Your Highness.”

“I’m not—upset.” He isn’t. Koushi’s warmth lingers as a last attempt at warding off the chill. “This is already so…”

“Scandalous? _Improper_?”

“I think it best to continue this tour in daylight hours, when we both are accompanied by our attendants.”

Koushi still has not risen again, and Daichi doesn’t know how to make him. He’s very certain that even a General should not stay down so long. “As you wish.” Coat folded over his arms, Koushi pads silently off in the direction of the palace once more, leaving Daichi alone in the garden.

 

—

 

Daichi has wiped his face, surreptitiously checked his attire, and run his hands through his short hair just to resettle his coronet more times than he could remember. He’s probably only mussed himself further, but still, Tooru gives him a look akin to a satisfied mouser. Daichi has tried to inquire politely. More than once. He’s running out of methods to do so.

“Forgive my forwardness,” Daichi begins.

“Not even a concern, Your Highness,” Tooru smugly replies.

“But you keep staring at me. Have I in some way offended?”

Tooru fingers the lapels of his uniform coat. It’s not the full dress one nor the relaxed one Koushi had the night before, but something far closer to what he would wear on the field with his soldiers. He _finally_ pulls his eyes away from Daichi, and runs a long finger down the coal black fabric of his front. His nail hooks on the outermost blue trim. “I heard Setarian colors look good on you from a source very close to me. I was imagining such a sight for myself.”

Daichi pinches the bridge of his nose, palm over his face to try to hide his guilty flush. “I assure you, it was nothing improper.”

“Koushi couldn’t lie to me. I know that.”

“Then why does it matter?”

“I want a romantic private tour of the gardens with the Crown Prince as well!” Tooru exclaims. _Squeals_. Daichi doesn’t think he ever wants to hear a grown man make a sound like that ever again.

“It wasn’t—! He was being a gentleman. I had forgotten my own coat.” He knows he’s digging himself deeper now. Tooru has returned to his overly smug air, and Daichi has the slight urge to shove him off his chair.

“I would still like a tour,” Tooru declares.

Daichi gives him a flat, pleading look: _does it have to be me?_

Tooru beams at him.

“I’d rather discuss what you think about the future of our countries.”

“We can do that as we walk! Fresh air is good for the mind, you know, and it’s important for anyone to get proper exercise. No need to stay in this stuffy old parlor all day.”  

So Daichi doesn’t get much proper say in the matter as he’s dragged through the halls until they make their way outside. Tetsurou has his duty as Daichi’s guard today, and Daichi does not look forward to the teasing he’ll receive about this later. Tooru’s own guard seems as sleepy as ever, and Daichi did overhear some quiet murmurs between them earlier, though if the man had any opinion on Tetsurou’s chattiness, he kept it to himself.

“What manner of pastimes do you have in your country, Your Highness?” Tooru asks pleasantly as soon as they’re on the path to the main gardens. These aren’t the same ones Daichi had walked through with Koushi, and Daichi doesn’t see the need to tell Tooru this. “What do you like to do in the outdoors?”

“Setaria cannot be _that_ far removed from here. What do _you_ do when you’re not in council chambers or on the battlefield?” Daichi counters.

“How much free time you think we Generals have,” Tooru says and fondly pats Daichi’s hair. _Pats_ him.

Daichi quickly detaches the taller man from his arm and ignores Tetsurou’s poorly concealed snicker. “I would thank you not to forget your position here,” Daichi says.

“I apologize for overstepping any personal bounds,” Tooru replies at once. Even with the speed of the apology, it is sincere, and he makes no move to touch Daichi again. They walk side by side, enjoying the sunshine, in silence.

Daichi needs to stop alienating these Generals. He knows that this is not the proper method of doing things, of interacting with other leaders, much less military men—but he has little choice. The best he can do is believe that they view this as some type of vacation, a break from their duties at home. Maybe that’s truly the reason why he and Koushi came along.

“You know, we did research on the royal family and your country’s history before we came here. Koushi isn’t terribly versed in any world history, and it has been a long time since anything but fronts and games of numbers have been at the forefront of my mind,” Tooru says conversationally, lightly, casually. A peace offering.

Not that Daichi wishes to talk endlessly of himself—quite the opposite, and he never would have figured that Tooru would be so _against_ it—but he’ll see where Tooru wants to take this conversation now. “I tried doing my research as well,” Daichi tries anyway. “Little good it did me, compared to the real things.”

“It’s difficult to remember that all of these important names and places are _real_. So I understand.”

It’s reassuring, in a way. More human than Tooru has appeared so far; he’s so put-together, that even his genuine moments seem somehow artificial. At least the Lord-General has her fierce, brutal honesty, and Koushi he knows acts exactly the same even in private. Tooru seems to be putting on a show—a consistent one, but still a show—for anyone, even an audience of just three.

“But that is not what I wanted to say! I made a very important discovery about you, Prince Daichi,” Tooru exclaims with all the cheer of an excited child. Daichi dreads what this discovery may be. “Your military rank was awarded by honor.”

_Oh no_ , Daichi realizes, horror overtaking dread. He has long since known that he has no actual service compared to literal Generals, much less regarding a war he intends to stop. Yet he hadn’t thought anyone, even Tooru, would dare call him out on it.

“Last I heard, General outranks Commander,” Tooru finishes with a smirk. Daichi deflates out of sheer shock.

_He doesn’t care about that?_

“Isn’t it funny, that while Your Highness may outrank a mere General here, in another situation, I would outrank you?”

Daichi laughs in relief. “I’d never thought about it that way,” he admits, sheepish but strangely pleased. He may as well turn this to his advantage. “I have no formal military experience, so my rank of Prince tends to trump anything else in how I view it. Spoiled, isn’t it?”

“Considering what a prude you appear to be in regards to how _you_ treat _us_ , I wouldn’t call it spoiled when you say such a thing but have yet to enforce anything related to it,” Tooru replies offhandedly. His voice has dropped from its musical lilt, and he sounds almost _serious_. He notes Daichi’s expression (what kind is it—he isn’t certain) and gives him a rueful smile. “I apologize, Your Highness. I’m only concerned that you only seem to care in how you treat us, and not at all in how we’ve been treating you.”

Daichi isn’t aware they have stopped until Tooru leans down into his space. Daichi is used to taller men, but Tooru’s presence is large, and weighs upon him in a way that makes his breath catch.

And the worst part is that yes, he is only thinking of how to defuse this situation without offending.

Nevermind any offense to himself.

“Thank you for your advice,” Daichi says with a strained smile. He doesn’t step away from Tooru, doesn’t dare back down, but he does gesture behind his back. Tetsurou steps up and places a firm hand on the General’s shoulder. “I will take it into consideration, General.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: People get hot, wet, and naked. Together, even.


	4. the nobler the blood, the less the pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I never took you for the secret tryst kind of man,” Koushi replies.
> 
> “This isn’t—we’re not having a _tryst_!”
> 
> “Romantic moonlit walks in the gardens, personal tours by the Crown Prince, and now, sharing a private bath and bedchambers in the dark of night… Are you certain?”

“Thank you for talking Koutarou into this,” Daichi says with a long, luxurious groan. He reclines against the edge of the bath and allows his head to rest against the lip. The water steams around them, hotter (and hotter longer) than it could ever get without magic.

“You could thank him yourself,” Tetsurou replies with a grin in his voice.

Daichi reopens his eyes to find said witch standing above him, fists on his hips, grinning down at him like a hawk. Daichi smiles benignly up at him. “Thank you, Koutarou.”

“Don’t say I never did anything for you!”

“I would never.”

Koutarou plops down and dunks his feet in the water with a happy coo. “This is nice, once in awhile. It sucks having to hide from everyone just because those Generals are here. I get lonely!”

“I’ve been visiting him when Asahi is on duty with you,” Tetsurou explains, “but we’re pretty much locked in the guard quarters or one of the towers.”

“I can see _some_ stuff, but I can’t predict random General movements,” Koutarou says. He pulls his feet from the water just enough to peel off his damp trousers, then slides in between the two. “Poor Prince, so stressed just from their presence.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Daichi warns, but it’s not as if he’ll really get into an argument with the witch. He’s not even that mad.

Tetsurou moves around to the other side so he can stick his leg physically between them. They both scoot away from his foot as if it were a venomous snake. “It’s supposed to be a time for relaxation,” Tetsurou cheerily reminds them, “and that means no bickering. Kou, we’ll carve out some time to visit you, or find a way to distract the Generals in one area. What do you miss doing the most?”

“I want to visit the kitchens again!” he says at once.

“Alright,” Daichi replies with a smile. “We’ll have a private dinner together, along with Asahi. Does tomorrow work for you?”

“Yeah, my schedule’s pretty free when I’m not at your father’s beck and call. Even _he_ wouldn’t break the agreement and call on me when the Lord-General won’t stop bothering him. It’s kind of funny, though.” Koutarou sinks low in the water with a thoughtful sound which comes out as a bubble. He shoves both his feet back in Tetsurou’s direction, and his guard laughs, grabs them, and yanks him under the water completely.

Daichi knows Tetsurou is a man of considerable nerve, but he doubts he’ll _ever_ see anyone else treat Koutarou in such a way. The witch pops back up from the water, cackling instead of gasping for air, and with a gesture, he splashes what seems to be half the water in the bath up onto Tetsurou’s head.

Daichi sighs at the far lower water. It doesn’t come quite halfway up his chest now. “I had been using that…”

“Sorry,” Koutarou says without a hint of true apology in his tone. With two more flicks of his hand, he scrapes off much of the water from the surrounding floor and nearest wall and puts it back into the bath. It has cooled considerably, and both Daichi and Tetsurou shiver at the sudden dunk in lukewarm water.

“Kou, c’mon,” Tetsurou groans and rubs his arms. “Warn a man before doing things like that!”

“Better yet, refrain in the future,” Daichi adds.

In true apology this time, Koutarou spreads his hands flat along the surface of the water, and it begins to heat once more. The moan Tetsurou lets out as he sinks into the steamy bath is _obscene_. Daichi is glad it’s just the three of them.

“I spoil you,” Koutarou says fondly. Both men nod in happy agreement.

The water has almost gotten up to the first temperature—perhaps a bit hotter, as used as Daichi is to it—when Koutarou suddenly startles, and badly.

With a word Daichi doesn’t recognize, he scrambles out of the water, grabs his trousers and hat without putting either on, and sprints out the side door.

A wet, naked witch bolting through the palace is cause for alarm on a good day. Suddenly, Daichi’s stress levels are back to what they had been prior to the bath. “What the hell caused that?” Tetsurou asks, body tense. He eyes their uniforms, hung up (Daichi’s) and strewn about (Tetsurou’s), weapons leaning against the wall. None are within easy reach.

Their answer arrives very soon after, in the form of a General peering through the colored glass wall separating the large bath from the entrance to the room. “Oh! I didn’t realize this was in use, I’m sorry,” Koushi says at once.

“We have hot water to spare,” Daichi calls back. There’s no response, so he adds, “You are welcome to join us, General.”

Tetsurou’s making stupid expressions, waggling his eyebrows and pursing his lips, from across the water. Daichi can’t reach to kick him, and he won’t look foolish by getting caught splashing him. “I was exploring the palace, and I was told I could bathe here,” Koushi calls back, sounding very stiff. “I wasn’t informed it was in use.”

“It’s large enough for six people, at least.”

“He’s asking you to join us, General Sugawara,” Tetsurou helpfully calls.

Daichi rolls his eyes. “If you’d like.”

Koushi comes into the main room like a kicked dog. He won’t make eye contact with either of them, and there’s a delicate flush high on his cheeks. It’s very charming, and it’s another case of something humanizing an enemy General. Daichi isn’t certain how to feel about it yet, though he enjoyed the insight Tooru gave him.

Koushi won’t look at either of them, and he doesn’t have his guard with him as he should, unless he’s been stationed outside the door. He’s only partially dressed, in loose trousers and a looser shirt, unbuttoned halfway down. It’s almost as little as Daichi had seen him in the other night.

“I come from a culture where shared baths aren’t common,” Koushi says by way of explanation as he pulls his shirt up over his head.

“You don’t have to,” Daichi says at once. “If you’re uncomfortable, or if you’d like to bathe privately. There are a couple of smaller rooms—you could use my private bath, if you’d prefer.”

The relief is clear in the way Koushi’s shoulders drop from around his ears. “Well, I can’t be polite and say I’d rather stay here, as that would be a lie,” he says wryly. He holds his shirt in front of his chest like a shy woman might, though Daichi can see no hint of breasts.

He can, however, see scars—there are many that are thin and winding along his torso, and while he can’t see Koushi’s back from this angle, Daichi can recognize the marks from being whipped. There are faint bruises around his forearms, well above where the cuffs lay, and Daichi realizes that this is the first time he has seen Koushi like this. Tooru will push his sleeves back and unbutton or untie his shirt casually; Koushi will not. It’s the first time he has even seen proof that Koushi has been wearing the magic cuffs at all.

He pulls his shirt back over his head, making his hair into a fluffy mess. Daichi can’t tear his eyes from the sight.

“Perhaps another day I’ll try this with you,” Koushi says. Since he’s not looking in their direction, he can’t comment on the way Daichi’s eyes unduly linger. Several locks of his silver hair are sticking straight up. “Until another time, Your Highness.” He bows, and beats a swift retreat.

Now that he’s not distracted by a witch’s hasty escape, Daichi hears the telltale sound of heavy boots leaving with Koushi. Tetsurou leans against the edge of the bath, suddenly next to Daichi but lower in the water, and looks up at him with a particularly awful expression.

Instead of remarking upon Daichi’s staring, Tetsurou tells him, “Koutarou is going to be sulking that he had to leave so quickly because of that General. You may want to keep an eye on that. I’m not sure any of my teasing would fix this.”

“At least he did respect it…”

“He _is_ bound to your blood to follow your laws. That definitely entails respecting attempts at negotiating treaties.” If it’s meant to be lighthearted, it fails, and Daichi sighs at the prospect of dealing with an irate witch.

 

—

 

Daichi cannot sleep, again. Or rather, he doesn’t _want_ to sleep. While initially hopeful, he feels as if he is running nowhere now; the Lord-General continues with vague agreements for peace, Tooru is as audacious as he is stubborn about following his mother’s opinions, and Koushi, well. He seems to be avoiding Daichi altogether.

It allows him the time to regroup and try to come up with something concrete to offer the Lord-General—despite his work, she had dismissed his initial treaty drafts entirely and he’s not certain she even _looked_ at them—but the two young Generals still eat at his mind. They’re part of a council, after all, and while Lord-General Oikawa is a powerful woman, she is not the sole voice. He _must_ sway the other two.

Koutarou has been avoiding him, too. (As much as letting Daichi see him, angrily huffing, and storming off counts as true avoidance.) For someone ageless, he should have learned how to manage grudges by now. It wasn’t even Daichi’s _fault_ , and that stings the most. _He_ isn't a seer or a witch—how was _he_ supposed to have known that a General would interrupt?

It is with these thoughts consuming him, that Daichi finds himself in the gardens late at night once more. He’s better dressed this time, not yet in his bedclothes and in proper boots, but the night is still colder than he prefers. He wants to think it will help clear his mind.

Funny, how his father hasn’t even been an afterthought since the initial spat with the Lord-General. He wonders if that’s wise.

Daichi hears a noise behind him, and he jumps to attention, whirling around to find none other than General Sugawara. Again.

He smiles at Daichi, not at all surprised by his sudden movement. Daichi must wonder if he made the sound for his benefit. “Good evening,” Koushi says mildly, and inclines his head. Daichi mirrors the movement. “You stand out in that uniform of yours—Amicoran colors don’t hide you very well. Is this a habit of yours, to wander around in the dark in the gardens, practically glowing?”

“It’s fast becoming one,” Daichi admits. “What about you? This is twice now I’ve caught you out of bed, rumpled and barefoot. That seems like an odder habit, if I may say.”

“If I tell you the truth, it would paint a poor picture of myself, so I won’t,” Koushi laughingly confesses. Daichi gapes at him, too stunned to be suspicious. “But I am glad to see that you’re more properly dressed, Your Highness. I wouldn’t want you to freeze again.”

Daichi wonders if Koushi would try to offer him his coat again. He’s not even in uniform this time, not even an attempt; it is a simple traveling coat, thick wool and dull brown. Perfectly neutral.

Daichi wonders if that was for his benefit as well.

The briefest thought of all: how would Koushi look in _his_ uniform? Would the white complement his hair, would the gold trimmings bring out the copper in his eyes? The royal purple is dark enough, perhaps he’d feel more comfortable in that compared to the coal black of Setarian uniforms.

Daichi thinks, briefly, about finding one of the darker field uniforms for his next late-night walk, and then realizes it would mean he’s _planning_ for another one of these jaunts with Koushi.

“Since neither of us will be freezing, would you like to accompany me?” Daichi awkwardly asks and pulls his thoughts back to the present. The night is overcast and dark, but they’re still close enough that Daichi can see the way Koushi lights up at the offer.

“I would enjoy that very much! Thank you.” And before he can protest, Koushi loops their arms together, like Daichi is a gentleman escorting someone. Which may be _technically_ true, but as usual, his brazen attitude knocks Daichi off kilter.

Koushi leans a bit more than totally appropriate against him. Daichi can still feel his warmth, through all the extra layers between them.

It’s late at night, and Daichi is so very tired of struggling with his own thoughts and fears. “General, if I may be so impertinent to ask you a few questions…?”

“If you’d like, Your Highness.”

“You and General Oikawa have been… very _comfortable_ when dealing with me. This is no formal complaint, but it has vexed me, in comparison to your behavior at the baths the other day. If this were simple flirting, I don’t see why you wouldn’t have taken me up on the offer.”

“I told you, I’m unaccustomed to public bathing.” Oh, _now_ Koushi seems uncomfortable, stiff even. Daichi is (perhaps unkindly) glad he’s not the only one who has been floundering about. “And there is nothing sexual about bathing, unless that’s another cultural mistake on my part?”

“No, you’re correct, and I fear Tetsurou would have laughed us both out of the bath if you were to try anything then.”

“Then I don’t see what the issue is. I hope I haven’t offended—”

“You’re fine. I’m just trying to understand the incongruence. What if I had turned out to be a perverted scoundrel who would have taken advantage of your ploy?”

Koushi laughs, merry and bright and not at all upset. “Then I suppose we would have wound up in bed already!”

This conversation is not going how Daichi had hoped. He wishes he could rub the red from his face, but at least he can blame it on the cold. “So, you’re here to seduce me?”

“Not exactly,” Koushi says, and that’s not a lie, and it’s not a full _no_ either. Daichi isn’t sure how to process that. “Certainly, Tooru and I were brought along for specific reasons, rather than any of the more accomplished Generals… But it’s nothing so insidious as to try to bed you and steal secrets.”

“I never said anything about stealing secrets.”

“I am not, nor any of my fellow Generals here in your palace, planning on stealing state secrets from you,” Koushi says clearly. “Does that put your heart at ease, Your Highness?”

“What _are_ you here for?”

“Peace between the warring nations,” Koushi answers.

“And you think it will be accomplished by embarrassing me, or becoming embarrassed yourself? You could _talk_ with me, instead of flirting and playing coy!” Daichi exclaims, far louder than he means to. He glances around, hoping he didn’t draw the attention of any guards he’d dodged, but no one comes running at them.

He and Koushi both let out relieved sighs, and head a little deeper into the garden, where the memory pond lays, surrounded by willow trees. There are benches and statues here, but Daichi would rather stand at the edge where he knows they’re just avoiding the mud, and Koushi doesn’t move from his side.

“The Lord-General wasn’t sure how to deal with you when we first arrived. You are quite the mystery, Your Highness, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“ _I’m_ the mystery?” Daichi grouses under his breath. Even Koushi is speaking quieter now, though they’re safe from anyone not in the gardens by this point. “So, with a council of famed and clever Generals, your best thought for dealing with an unruly prince was to attempt to seduce him.”

“As I told you, this was not a seduction. And—do you honestly believe both Tooru and I would try that? At the same time?”

Daichi considers himself a decent judge of character, and he has to admit, no, he doesn’t think _both_ men would attempt to pursue him together. That’s a little too much, even for them. “Then why?”

Koushi shifts from foot to foot next to him, and wiggles his toes in the cool grass. They’re quite close to the water here, and Daichi wonders if his feet are getting cold. Maybe they should step back and rest on a bench while having this sudden, earnest talk.

“I don’t know,” Koushi says softly.

And it’s a lie.

Daichi knows this because the magic cuffs on Koushi’s wrists suddenly snap together with a muted metallic _snick_ and Koushi is yanked forward by the magical weight of them. They’re meant to immobilize a person, which involves taking away any easy movements, but the manner of accomplishing this is to drive the wearer to the ground.

The ground in front of them isn’t ground, but pond.

Koushi falls in with a shriek and a splash.

It’s not deep, not this close to the edge or overall, so Daichi is not worried about drowning at first. Daichi _is_ worried about the fact that a foreign General just fell into a cold pond in the middle of the night under his watch, however. He can feel how frigid the water is from the splash that hit his legs, and while Koushi may be better suited for colder climes than Daichi, there’s no way he’s fine with a late-night dunk while half-dressed.

Daichi has already jumped in after him by the time Koushi pops back up, coughing and unable to stand properly. He doesn’t recognize the first few words out of his mouth, but they’re angry, and certainly waterlogged.

Daichi throws his arms around him in order to reach the cuffs, and as soon as he grips Koushi’s wrist, the magic is undone. Both men right themselves in the water, spluttering and dripping, and Koushi rubs at the cuffs.

There is no immediate accusation, nor is there immediate apology. But Koushi still speaks first. “Damn it all…! I owe Tooru now.”

Daichi _means_ to ask if he’s alright. “You… what?” is what comes out instead.

“We made a wager, who would slip up and lie in front of you first.” Koushi takes a deep, dry breath, and jerks his head to shake wet hair out of his eyes. “How disappointing. I try to be more careful with my words than him.”

He doesn’t seem perturbed in the least that he just got caught lying to the Prince, or even that he and another General had a game about it. Koushi shoots him a rueful grin as they climb back out of the pond. Daichi already feels close to freezing, and he sees that the General is shivering as he strips off his sopping coat and wrings out his shirt.

Koushi is the wetter one between them—Daichi managed to stay fairly dry from his ribs up aside from his arms—and his wet clothes stick to his body in a way Daichi’s eyes traitorously linger upon. Koushi isn’t _meaning_ to seduce him. He’s flirting, yes, but that doesn’t mean…

Daichi feels it shouldn’t work. On principle.

“Another garden tour cut short,” Koushi says, feigning a pout as he catches Daichi’s eye over his shoulder. He doesn’t remark on the staring. In fact, his eyes linger upon the wet stick of the light-colored fabric to Daichi’s own skin, and he feels he ought to cover up at the sheer heat in his gaze. “Another night, perhaps? Since this seems to be the growing tradition between us.”

Daichi takes an embarrassing moment to recall how his tongue works. “That, ah, would be nice. But first, we have to get back inside before we catch our death of cold.”

“You’re so delicate about this,” Koushi teases, but he’s definitely the first one headed back in the direction of the palace. They both use quick, long strides, and Daichi cringes at the wet feel of his feet in his boots.

“I have a private bath,” Daichi says, before they reach the side door. Koushi cocks his head at him. “To warm up. I don’t think anyone would be around to heat the water in any other wing, but there _are_ perks to being the Crown Prince.”

“That means feeling little guilt to drawing a bath this time of night?”

“Something like that.”

Sneaking back inside proves to be more difficult with squelching boots and wet clothes. Neither are still dripping, but Daichi leaves wet footprints, and Koushi has his arms wrapped around himself, unable to help his trembling.

And then, Daichi wonders, _why_ are they sneaking?

Daichi is the Crown Prince, and he already means to wake or find someone to draw a bath. There’s no risk now of getting caught, back inside, and who would reprimand the Prince?

He isn’t certain of the time, so he isn’t sure where any guards are, but there are always two in his wing of the palace. It’s just a matter of finding one.

Koushi reads something different in his demeanor, as opposed to their furtive sneaking like some kind of terrible spies, but Daichi marches on ahead without waiting for the inevitable questioning. There is nothing wrong with this picture, and if he seems authoritative enough, he will head off most of the gossip.

Down a long corridor and around the corner, almost to his bedchamber, Daichi finally spots one of the guards doing rounds. He can’t place the woman initially, name yet again leaving him, but a call and one look at the two of them has her skittering to their side in a heartbeat. “M-My prince? What happened to you both?”

“Please, send someone to draw hot water for a bath. And inform General Sugawara’s personal guard that he will be with me.”

“This isn’t necessary,” Koushi says in a low voice, but only after the guard has marched off again.

And it actually _isn’t_. It isn’t Daichi’s fault that Koushi lied, or that he fell into the pond. (It _is_ Daichi’s fault he went in after him.) But Daichi will be damned if he lets them both shiver and be miserable, or catch any kind of illness. “At least let me warm you up before you return to your room.”

Koushi looks away, but he’s smirking, in kind of a bitter way. “Oh, so I won’t be spending the rest of the night with you?”

“If you’d—do you _want_ to?”

He can’t lie. Somehow, Daichi knows Koushi won’t lie to him again. The General looks up at him, brown eyes clear and only barely a crook to his lips, and replies, “Yes. Is this a problem, Your Highness?”

It’s not a seduction, it’s a flirtation, and apparently an earnest one—this confuses Daichi more than before. He struggles not to sigh in the face of Koushi’s bold words. “You may stay with me tonight,” he says despite he can already hear the way Asahi and Tetsurou will screech at him for this. “But it must not reach the ears of any of the other Generals _or_ my father. Do you understand?”

“I never took you for the secret tryst kind of man,” Koushi replies.

“This isn’t—we’re not having a _tryst_!”

“Romantic moonlit walks in the gardens, personal tours by the Crown Prince, and now, sharing a private bath and bedchambers in the dark of night… Are you certain?”

“In my experience, trysts involve more…” Alright, he’s not finishing that statement, based on the wide-eyed look Koushi is giving him. Plus the growing smirk. Daichi will not walk willingly into that trap. “The moon wasn’t even out tonight. You fell in the pond. How was it romantic?”

“Perhaps moss is romantic in some far-flung state.”

It’s no small mercy that the guard returns with several palace workers—more than Daichi wanted to wake—and their presence saves him from the rest of that conversation. He doesn’t know where it was headed, but he’s sure he fears the destination.

_Why_?

He and Koushi keep a respectable distance between themselves, chins held high and both of them trying not to seem as if they’re shivering. Daichi catches more than one poorly-concealed smile from the few palace staff who’d come; Daichi is used to this kind of almost familial behavior from many of the people he’d known since childhood, but it’s clear Koushi is not as comfortable with these strangers. He casts furtive looks at Daichi all the while.

By the time they have made it to Daichi’s chambers and Koushi is attempting (poorly) to dismiss any attempts at helping him peel out of his damp clothing, steam has begun to edge at the windows. This room is actually his favorite to stay in, if only for the connected bath, but it technically is not his official quarters. The bed is slightly smaller, but firmer from less use.

Asahi is yawning when he ambles in, but he steadily takes in the sight of Koushi backing away from helpful maids without batting an eye.

The Setarian guard who skids in soon after, rumpled and panting, is less composed. “Su—General Sugawara?!” he gasps, eyes roving pointedly over the shirtless Prince and scowling attendants. “You’re… What are you doing.” It’s probably the first time Daichi has heard him speak more than a monosyllabic greeting, and his voice is surprisingly deep. More surprising is the informal tone he speaks with.

“It’s not an issue,” Koushi says, and _rolls his eyes_. “You can go back to bed, Makki.”

The guard frowns.

“Second Lieutenant Hanamaki, you are relieved of your duties for tonight,” Koushi reiterates. He eyes Asahi warily, but doesn’t try to overstep and dismiss him, too.

“I’m telling Tooru,” Hanamaki sings as he departs again.

Daichi pauses, just to see if he’d come back with any other kind of rude quip, and Asahi sulks like _he_ expects to get scolded for the other guard’s behavior. “Does he… always refer to the General like that?”

“ _Oooh_ , do not get me started on the guards Tooru chose to bring with us, Daichi. I’ll likely never end.”

“I thought he was your personal guard.”

“No. He is… on loan to me, I suppose, for this trip. He is normally Tooru’s as well, much like you change out between your two tall ones.” Koushi glances up at Asahi again, but Daichi will not dismiss him. (It would be too embarrassing; Asahi could only surmise from such a move that they would want _privacy_.) “They’re both a pain,” Koushi says without waiting for Daichi to respond. It appears he _does_ want to complain about his entourage.

Daichi and Asahi exchange a look. One of the maids seems very hard like she’s trying not to laugh into the bed she’s making for them.

“You ought to see them when they think they’re alone! _Ha_! As I understand it, they’ve known Tooru since childhood, and they do _not_ care who else knows it. His own mother doesn’t treat him so familiarly! I may be new to this—this station, but they treat me the same way. Tooru had to _bribe them_ to behave. His own guards!”

“Now _that_ sounds familiar,” Daichi deadpans, and Asahi hides a chuckle behind his fist. “In my experience, it’s best to have people you trust. That breeds a certain kind of familiarity.”

“If I may,” Asahi gently breaks in, “it’s been an honor and a privilege to get to know Prince Daichi so well. Loyalty to a position or a job is one matter, and loyalty to a _person_ is another. General Oikawa would be lucky to have men he can trust so wholly.”

“They don’t need to drag _me_ into it,” Koushi grumbles.

He seems to realize only then, that in the midst of his tirade against his own guard, he had undressed himself without embarrassment. During the lull, however, Daichi is treated to the sight of the General turning as red as a tomato. He rubs at his arms, trying hard to seem like he’s _not_ embarrassed to be standing in his smallclothes, and edges toward the next room.

“I will join you in a moment,” Daichi sympathetically calls, and Koushi is off like a shot.

“You’re getting friendly,” Asahi comments in a low tone.

“Believe it or not, that’s the most passionately I’ve heard him talk since his arrival. He’s usually quite careful with his words.”

“So then, how you two ended up wet and cold…?”

“He fell in the pond. After lying, and he activated the magic.”

Asahi blinks, not quite startled, but certainly alarmed. He drops his voice further and whispers, “What did he lie to you about?”

“Ah…” It takes a moment for Daichi to recall, with all that had happened since they’d returned to the palace. “I asked him why he has been so forward with his advances. He tried to deflect the question, and then told me he didn’t know. That’s what the cuffs caught.”

“I should hope he knows why he’s acting like this around a prince,” Asahi says, clearly unimpressed.

“He’s not a threat to me,” Daichi replies sternly. Then, “Dismiss the staff and make note for me to compensate them for disturbing their sleep. Kou—General Sugawara isn’t used to nudity, so please wait out here, or by the door.”

Whether Asahi is smiling over Daichi’s spoiling of the staff or the near slip with his name, Daichi doesn’t care to know. All he knows is that he suddenly feels less sympathetic to dragging him out of his slumber in the middle of the night.

Daichi strips on his way to the bath, shivering at the air on his bare skin. He still feels chilled, if a little less so now that he’s indoors, and the steam from the hot water already feels heavenly. Koushi is already sitting in the copper tub, knees drawn to his chest, staring up at Daichi through the fringe of his pale bangs. He looks younger, curled up like that. Daichi can see the scars tracing around his body.

He doesn’t feel any embarrassment peeling off his wet trousers, despite the weight of Koushi’s eyes on him.

The tub isn’t as large or as ornate as some of the other baths in the palace, but this one is Daichi’s alone, and he loves it. It’s more than large enough for two men, but still, Daichi finds them sitting closer than perhaps strictly necessary.

Koushi’s eyes remain on Daichi, and Daichi tries to spare him any unease by fixing his attention on the high window on the far wall. The glass is stained a myriad of colors, but they’re all dark now with the night.

Without the palace staff shuffling around anymore, it’s dead silent between them. Daichi can hear the soft intake of breath as Koushi parts his lips and prepares to speak.

He expects the same question he wants to ask—what happened to earn you a whipping? _Why would anyone flog a General in Setaria?_

Instead, Koushi asks, “That ring… It’s your mother’s isn’t it?”

Daichi is so used to the weight of the ring on the chain around his neck that for a long moment, he has absolutely no idea what Koushi is even referring to.

He’s bathed and changed often enough in front of his guards, and even Koutarou or other palace staff, that he doesn’t even realize that it’s out of place on an otherwise nude man. Perhaps it’s out of place in general on a Prince.

Daichi pulls the chain taut to examine the signet ring. “Ah… yes. I suppose it must be obvious, huh?”

“Well, it can’t be yours,” Koushi reasons with a small nod.

“I thought you were going to ask about my back. I wanted to use that to segue into asking about you…”

Koushi hunches down lower in the water with a dark look.

“I don’t mean to offend!” Daichi quickly backpedals. “It’s just—there is no royalty anymore in Setaria, so why would someone of your station—I mean, your record is impeccable and you naturally get along with so many people—”

“You seem to forget, Your Highness, that people are not _born_ into this like royal bloodlines. I have not been a General all my life, and in fact I have had a life outside of the Setarian military. But I would not like to discuss it at this time with you.” His voice is clear and cold, and Daichi looks away, saddened by ruining his chance.

They fall into a tense, unhappy silence.

_Of course he’s angry, he has every right to be._ Daichi curses his curiosity, his lapse in judgment. He had been happily easing into this—whatever _this_ is—but now he’d made two steps backward for his one forward step.

He isn’t sure whether it’s apology or wanting to earn back the breach of trust that prompts Daichi to say, “You could have asked in return what a prince did to deserve a flogging. I _was_ born into this role, after all, and that comes with many privileges. Not the least of which is being spoiled by everyone around you.”

“I wouldn’t want to inadvertently insult you or your station,” Koushi mildly replies.

“Alright, I deserved that.”

“Yes. But I _am_ curious why you’re volunteering this information,” he sighs, but Daichi detects the smallest bit of indulgence, “so you may go ahead and regale me with the tale of how you managed to piss someone off enough for them to overlook their station and attack you. You may even tell me of their punishment afterward.”

“No, no, that’s not what I was setting this up for.” From a technical standpoint, he _could_ have reprimanded the man who’d whipped him, if only for spite. But Daichi is not like that—not like his father. “My father the King ordered it.”

Koushi’s eyes become even larger, and his mouth falls open in his shock. The warm brown of his irises sparkle with the rippling of the water and reflections of the candles around them.

“I may not be wearing magicked items, but I strive to be an honest man, and the truth is this: my father had no knowledge of my contact with the Lord-General until you were already invited. These peace talks are my initiative, and show my commitment to ending this war,” Daichi says, voice ringing in the silence of the bath.

The way Koushi stares up at him, Daichi might think he’s a little impressed.

He smooths it over quickly, and at least he’s smiling again, uneven and crooked but warm when he elbows Daichi in the side. “Well, aren’t you noble? I’m… glad. That you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“A good man,” Koushi replies.

For the strangest reason, that warms Daichi more than the bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi gets his ass kicked, and thanks the universe for it.


	5. willing to draw blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s good to know your enemies intimately,” Koushi says and drops into that stance of his again. “Come, Daichi. Get to know me.”
> 
> Daichi realizes two things simultaneously: this is the first time Koushi has addressed him without a title (using his given name at all), and Koushi has a kind of commanding tone he has never heard before from him and it is _more_ than mildly arousing. The two mixed are close to a disaster.

“Why didn’t your personal guard accompany you, if this man is General Oikawa’s?” Daichi asks. It has been two days since Koushi opened up in order to complain, and there are so many questions Daichi still has. Koushi, at least, has been a good sport about answering them, even if they come from nowhere, as today.

Koushi looks up from kneading the dough. Yet again, he’s covered in splotches of flour, and his hair is all manner of ruffled. For once, he has his sleeves rolled up, exposing the cuffs.

And a few scars, faded with age, but visible now that Daichi knows to look for them. Bruises are still visible, if yellowed. He thinks that those, rather than the cuffs, were what Koushi had been shy about showing before; he’s glad to have this level of trust between them.

“It was to uphold our image, and because Tooru wanted both of them there,” Koushi honestly replies, then cringes at the sour look his guard shoots him. “What—I can’t lie, if you recall. Don’t give me that kind of face!”

“You’re being very chatty with His Highness,” comes the pointed reply.

Koushi narrows his eyes, and opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. Their guards and attendants don’t wear cuffs, but Koushi has been exceptionally mindful of his since the pond incident.

“I’d thank you to remember your station,” Daichi calls over.

Tetsurou snickers and Koushi’s guard makes an even _more_ sour face, like he’d just bitten a lemon. Daichi can tell the man isn’t used to non-Tooru reprimands. “Sir,” he grunts.

(Daichi wishes he could remember his name. He knows Koushi mentioned it, but he feels awkward asking again. Hana-something, right?)

“I don’t have any personal guards myself,” Koushi says, steering the conversation back on track. He kneads with ferocity, like the dough has personally offended his entire bloodline in the very recent past.

“Why not?”

Koushi gets an uncomfortable expression; Daichi is beginning to recognize that as him thinking his way around what to say. He must figure it out, because he brightens and exclaims, “I’m the best close-range fighter in the entire council! So they don’t believe I need any personal bodyguards.”

His guard snorts.

So does Tetsurou.

“ _You’re_ the best fighter in the council of Generals?” Daichi asks. He honestly doesn’t _mean_ to come off as condescending, but he’s barely restraining a grin himself. Oh, he has no doubt that Koushi is fit—he’s seen his body—and he must have all manner of weapons and tactical training.

But in his experience, once a person has reached a certain rank, they tend to focus more on the intellectual side of warfare, rather than remembering how to hold a weapon.

Koushi also isn’t a large man, height or weight. Tooru has quite a bit of size on him, and both of their guards are not small, either.

“You don’t believe me,” Koushi says flatly. The dough is punched a little harder.

“I believe you’re very accomplished,” Daichi says carefully, maintaining a neutral expression like his life depends on it, “and I want to believe that you’re capable of maintaining your own safety. But…”

“But?”

“There are always threats you can’t predict or see. And my guard—well, Kuroo—he also functions as an advisor, so I can count on him in many ways,” Daichi says with a gesture back at the man. He preens with the compliment.

“I’m used to working alone,” Koushi replies. He digs his fingers into the dough, then relents, sighs, and realizes that he’s just abusing the food at this point. “I wanted to make this for Tooru, but I suppose there’s no way around this. Makki, fetch one of the cooks, tell them we’ll be leaving and it’s safe for them to come back. Ask someone to finish this for me.”

“Where are we rushing off to?”

“There must be training grounds for your knights? I know there are courtyards, or we could even use the yard in front of your favorite gardens.”

“For what?” Daichi asks.

Koushi brushes excess flour off of himself and rolls his sleeves back down. Daichi can’t help but watch the movement. “We are going to spar. Even princes spar here, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do!” Tetsurou exclaims. Very loudly.

Koushi smiles prettily. Daichi doesn’t trust it in the least.

They abandon Koushi’s project—Daichi isn’t certain what it actually had been, other than incredibly sweet and some kind of bread, and supposedly entirely for Tooru—and Koushi marches them out into the nearest open yard like the General he is. Tetsurou thrums with excitement at Daichi’s heel, and Daichi must admit, he’s curious himself.

Koushi smiles as he unbuttons his vest. “You’ll be getting your clothes dirty when I throw you down, Your Highness. Take off anything you don’t want stained.”

He unlaces his boots and pulls them off as well, and Daichi jerks his chin over for Tetsurou. His guard gapes at him. “Me?”

“You were so quick to volunteer me. And this entire conversation started around General Sugawara’s lack of personal guards. Let’s see how he compares to a guard for the Crown Prince—a good test, don’t you think?” Daichi asks with a sunny smile.

Tetsurou glowers at him, but steps out into the patchy grass across from Koushi. He unbuckles his belt, tosses it and his sword over to Daichi, and looks down at his boots like he’s meant to take them off, too. “This is…”

“You have my full permission to come at me with the intent to incapacitate or harm. I will do the same for you. Is this alright?” Koushi asks as he drops into a lower stance.

Tetsurou glances, again, back at Daichi. “Don’t call the healer for anything, but I want to see the _best_ fighter in the council of Generals.”

Koushi’s smile widens, baring more teeth.

Tetsurou pulls off his gloves with his teeth and pulls off his vest, too, to match Koushi. They’re both in their shirtsleeves and trousers, Koushi barefoot again, and Tetsurou glances back one last time to ensure this is really alright with Daichi. He nods, indulgent.

Tetsurou may not have any formal training, but he can beat Asahi in hand-to-hand more often than not, and he’s crafty in a way that few can keep up with. He’s good at reading people, too, and at using his long reach and fast reflexes.

Not that Daichi _doubts_ Koushi’s abilities. The man must be skilled himself. But, well, comparatively…

To Daichi’s—and Tetsurou’s—surprise, Koushi does not take a defensive stance, despite the size difference. He darts toward Tetsurou and ducks under his first reach. Tetsurou brings up his other arm to brace, up in front of his chest, but Koushi manages to get under that just as easily.

Daichi catches a flash of another grin before Koushi twines his arms around Tetsurou’s neck and shoulders. They grapple, _briefly_ , and somehow—Daichi swears and he misses it—Koushi ends up on his feet, and Tetsurou ends up on his knees. One arm is still locked around Tetsurou’s neck, the other clenched in his dark hair.

“That was…” Daichi begins, and trails off. He doesn’t know how to end his statement—fast? Incredible? Mildly arousing?

Koushi releases Tetsurou and the guard falls forward with a gasp. He remains down for a moment, then rubs his throat, but grins up at him. “Where’d you learn tricks like that?”

Koushi puts a finger to his lips and winks.

“Alright, Daichi, your turn,” Tetsurou groans as he stands. He pretends not to be smirking, back to his prince, and offers his hand to Koushi. The General gladly shakes it.

“No rematch?” Daichi asks. He wants his blood to return to where it _should_ be before getting any nearer.

“It would be little more than a fight for your entertainment. I know when I’m outclassed. Now, if you wished for me to go find practice swords…”

“I’m good with blades, too,” Koushi primly replies.

“Oh yeah?” Tetsurou leers.

Daichi almost thinks he’s free of any challenge, then, hoping their own competitive spirits will take back over. Koushi beams up at him and nods, but then says, “I’m sure General Oikawa would love to test that, too. But a leader is only as good as his men, and I need to test yours.”

“Be my guest!” Tetsurou gestures grandly as he steps aside, and Daichi feels like a frightened rabbit before the two of them. “It’s only proper for a Crown Prince to play host to whatever his guest desires, after all, not to mention the wisdom of testing against a foreign General. Why, my lord, this is hardly something to pass up!” He has that horrible accent of his on full display, too.

“It’s good to know your enemies intimately,” Koushi says and drops into that stance of his again. “Come, Daichi. Get to know me.”

Daichi realizes two things simultaneously: this is the first time Koushi has addressed him without a title (using his given name at all), and Koushi has a kind of commanding tone he has never heard before from him and it is _more_ than mildly arousing. The two mixed are close to a disaster.

Daichi must ensure that these facts are never known by another soul.

He clears his throat with heat in his cheeks and nerves on fire. There is no dignified way to decline. His pride as the Prince of Amicora is on the line… or something. His pride as a man, certainly. If he were with Asahi today, he may have stood a chance, but not with Tetsurou. Tetsurou may as well have been reading his mind even now, with his knowing smirk and growing treachery.

But he is not some spoilt pet who cannot fend for himself. He has seen Koushi in action, however quickly, and he knows roughly what to expect. He, too, can hold his own in a fight. Daichi avoids both of their leering as he shrugs off his coat and rolls up his sleeves.

Tetsurou backs off and retrieves the pieces of his uniform. “Good luck, Daichi,” he whispers and winks at him.

Daichi needs to think of a suitable punishment later.

With a spar, there needs to be a winner and a loser, and Daichi is no stranger to losing. He’s not some sore winner with more pride than sense. He isn’t sure why he dreads facing Koushi now, outside of his newfound knowledge of how fluidly the man moves and the anticipation of his hands on him. Not in any lewd way, of course. This is a spar. He spars all the time with his guards and the knights in training.

They face off. Daichi sure as hell doesn’t make the first move, but he keeps his body ready for movement.

Koushi darts toward him, and Daichi steps out of his first swipe. He doesn’t overextend like Tetsurou had, but still, Koushi _somehow_ gets far too close, far too fast. Daichi is left scrambling backward as fast as he can, both arms raised in front of him, concentrating on keeping Koushi from getting any kind of hold.

Koushi’s foot hooks around his ankle just as Daichi shifts weight to step back.

Daichi can’t catch himself, not with Koushi bearing down on him, and he lands on his ass in the dirt. He rolls out from beneath Koushi’s pounce, but he ends up pinned just a moment later, with a _very_ triumphant General sitting on his back. One arm is twisted behind his back, and he can’t reach Koushi with his other.

Somehow, it’s not humiliating (or as arousing as he’d feared). “You win,” Daichi says, amused and exasperated and certainly more respectful than earlier. “You’re very good at this.”

“It’s my job!” Koushi chirps as he gets off. He extends a hand down to help Daichi back up, and he sighs at the dirt and grass all over his clothes. He _had_ been warned… “Your caution meant you lasted longer than your guard, at least. Take some pride in that, Your Highness.”

Ah, back to that, then. “Thank you, General,” Daichi replies as he dusts himself off to the best of his ability. “But I also had the gift of an educated guess, thanks to seeing you with Tetsurou. I’d like to see how he fares in another round?”

“Are you a sore loser?”

“No—” _No, I just find your fighting enthralling_. Daichi doesn’t say it aloud, but he doesn’t come up with any other end to the statement. He stands there, mouth still open, Koushi waiting patiently.

Something unnervingly like _realization_ sparks in his eyes and his smile, however angelic, feels infinitely more dangerous. “A wager then, Your Highness?”

“I don’t make losing bets.”

“ _Hey_!” Tetsurou indignantly calls.

“What sort of wager did you have in mind?” Daichi asks against his better judgment, ignoring his guard/advisor completely. “I don’t see why it’d be particularly fair, with your sparring history now out in the open.”

“I can give you an advantage,” Koushi flippantly replies. He even tosses his hair back with a jerk of his head. Daichi _knows_ he’s imitating Tooru. “You, or your chosen champion, against me. If I win, I want a royal favor.”

“That seems purposefully vague and something that would _definitely_ come back to bite you in the ass. My lord.” Tetsurou inserts himself back into their conversation, one arm looped around Daichi’s shoulders. “How would you disadvantage yourself?”

“I could fight with one hand behind my back,” Koushi offers, “or you could blindfold me.”

“You want us to _blindfold_ you. And you still think you’ll win.”

“What do I get if I win?” Daichi interrupts. They both turn to him, but he knows the bickering isn’t over.

“I don’t know the terminology, but whatever is the equivalent of a royal favor for a General? Equal stakes, but nothing uncouth. Just a bit of play.”

With that, Daichi _knows_ Koushi is planning something with a royal favor. Something perhaps not totally uncouth, but _damn near_ it, and he has something specific already in mind. He can’t lose. (Though he has twice already, if Tetsurou is indeed his ‘champion’. The very thought sends an unwanted shiver down his spine.)

All talks of betting are abruptly thrown aside when a _very_ ruffled General Oikawa sprints onto the scene.

Koushi’s guard grins as soon as they run up, but he swiftly quashes it when he sees Daichi looking. The General is only half-dressed, red-faced and messy-haired and panting as he struggles to catch his breath. He puts his hands on his knees, unable to speak just yet.

He was obviously in a hurry, yet Daichi has no idea how he had heard of their sparring. Makki had gone to fetch the cooks, yes, but he returned by the time they made it outside; there had been no time for him to find them, too. And not from distance enough to exhaust Tooru so much.

“Need… to see… Koushi wreck the prince,” Tooru gasps out as soon as he’s able. “Your Highness, I mean.”

“They were just making a wager about that very topic,” Tetsurou loudly exclaims with an overly false air of innocence. “Your timing is so fortuitous, General!”

Daichi will murder him in cold blood later.

It’s only because he’s looking in their direction—staunchly avoiding the Generals and his own guard—but Daichi catches the two Setarian guards exchange sly smirks. Tooru’s inclines his head toward Daichi, just as Makki notices Daichi’s attention. They both snap to stony-faced attention a moment later.

Their informality aggravates him, but it’s not his place to reprimand the personnel of another. (Even if Koushi had complained so much…)

“I will volunteer to ensure fairness!” Tooru grandly announces.

Daichi doesn’t appreciate the audience, and rethinks what little plan he’d had.

And then—it hits him.

“Alright, you may volunteer, General.”

He stands back and gestures at the spot in the makeshift ring in front of Koushi. Both Generals blink at him, nearly in sync; Tooru makes a soft “Eh?” too.

Daichi grins, making sure it’s the proper side of cheery rather than devilish, and gestures again. _Insistently_. Like a good (if confused) soldier, Tooru ambles over to stand in front of them both. “Thank you for volunteering to be my champion, General.”

“Ah, Your Highness, isn’t this considered cheating?” Koushi pouts. He pushes out his bottom lip, coy and tempting, but there is nothing but cold calculation in his narrowed eyes.

“You said so yourself, General Sugawara. I may choose my champion, and you _do_ claim to be the best close-range fighter in the Setarian council. Is there an issue past that?” Daichi innocently inquires.

“You mean _besides_ having a foreign General represent you?” Tetsurou squawks at the same time Tooru exclaims, “ _I_ wanted to see _you_ dragged through the dirt, not myself!”

That seems to relax Koushi, just the tiniest bit. But, despite his sulking, he maintains a careful eye on Daichi, not unlike a cat trying to figure out whether or not to play with its food.

Daichi smiles at him, as best he can despite the chilliness of those eyes, and beckons Tooru down to his level. “A moment please, General.”

Koushi waves them off.

“I didn’t think I’d agree to something like this,” Tooru hisses at Daichi, “not to mention that I _won’t_ fight him. You’ve likely already noticed this, but you can’t let his size or demeanor fool you. He’s dangerous.”

“I’ve already ended up pinned once, thank you. It’s _your_ turn.”

“Why would I do this for you?”

Daichi will regret this, but he’s committed. “The winner of this fight receives a favor from the other. If you win this for me, I’ll give you a royal favor yourself.”

“A royal favor from the Crown Prince,” Tooru says, and suddenly he’s grinning, sharp and just as dangerous as Koushi. It’s terrifying to have it so close to him, but it’s a little better than Tooru standing to his full height and lording over him. Oh, Daichi will certainly regret this.

“Nothing improper,” Daichi warns.

“Oh, I would…” Tooru trails off, and Daichi realizes he had been about to finish that with ‘never’. He cut off the lie early, though he still sends a nervous look down at his wrists. The magic does not activate. If he weren’t in front of the Crown Prince, Daichi is certain the man would’ve sighed in relief. “Alright, I wouldn’t use it for anything improper like _you’re_ thinking. Your Highness, I never would have expected such a lewd mind…!”

“Are you two quite finished?” Koushi calls over.

“What kind of advantage will you give us?” Daichi calls back. Koushi scowls, looks pointedly at Tooru, then holds his arm behind his back.

“Oh, don’t do that!” Tooru croons and saunters back over. Koushi looks wary now, and not at all pleased. Tooru rolls his shoulders back, folds his sleeves up over his elbows, and doesn’t drop into any kind of fighting stance, despite the fact that his opponent does.

“Oh, he’s about to make an ass of himself,” one of the guards mutters, off to the side. Daichi is just near enough to hear it, and he’s not sure that’s accidental.

“This is going to be hard to watch,” the other replies.

When Daichi looks back at them, they’re both watching, raptly.

Tetsurou slides over to them with an overly innocent air, and slings an arm around the nearer (the taller, dark-haired one assigned to Tooru). “So, for a betting man, what are we looking at here?”

“This is about to lose all entertainment value, unless you’re a sadist,” Koushi’s guard says. “It’s going to be a race. If Sugawara can pin Tooru before he can make an ass of himself, then he’ll win. But I don’t think he will.”

“As someone who just was mightily surprised by that little pale-haired General, please let me wager against that,” Tetsurou says.

The fight begins and Daichi’s attention snaps back to Koushi. He moves fast, faster than with Tetsurou or Daichi, and it looks like he wastes _no_ time in trying to get Tooru down as swiftly as possible. Daichi would even hazard to say he’s acting with newfound urgency.

Koushi feints left in order to swing in at Tooru’s other side, and the taller General barely sidesteps, eyes wide with surprise. Koushi ducks beneath his reach, hands flat on the dirt, and hooks his foot around Tooru’s boot. With a sharp yank, Tooru is sent stumbling, and Koushi flings himself at his middle, aiming to push him over completely with himself on top.

Tooru does fall, but he catches himself at the last moment, and grabs a fistful of the back of Koushi’s shirt.

Daichi sees him pull Koushi up to whisper something in his ear.

Koushi grits his teeth and tries to bear down on Tooru, but his size is against him now. Tooru rolls, flips him off, and yanks him back by the same hold on his clothes. His time, they’re so close together that Daichi swears Tooru is about to bite him, especially with the way he bares his teeth—but Koushi does not look afraid, only annoyed.

“Report, Sugawara! Loudly now!” Tooru barks as he throws him away to put space between them.

Just a bit too much space. Koushi, through grinding, gritted teeth, replies, “No, General,” and the magic sparks in his cuffs.

He catches himself on his hands, bent at the waist, legs still straight. He doesn’t seem at all perturbed by the position itself—Daichi is pleasantly stunned at his flexibility—but he’s glaring daggers up at Tooru. Tooru, for his part, preens more than usual. “Well now! That seems to be settled, doesn’t it, Your Highness?”

Daichi _had_ thought about trying to force Koushi into a lie, but he doesn’t know how Tooru managed it. And it doesn’t look all that fun anymore. There’s no further glimmer of amusement in Koushi’s eyes, and his mouth is a tight line, hair shadowing his face as he turns up at them.

In the process of approaching Daichi, likely for further teasing, Tooru makes the process of getting a bit _too_ close to the grounded General.

In a flash, Koushi braces his hands, swings his legs into the air, and manages to kick Tooru in the face.

The guards burst out laughing—even Tetsurou’s awful cackling—and Tooru reels back, clutching a bleeding nose. Koushi falls heavily with a _whump_ again, now on his back, legs splayed, but he’s grinning up at the sun overhead like he’s trying to match it. “You win, General Oikawa!” he sings, ten shades of smug and ten more shades of infectiously joyous. “Even if you did play dirty.”

“ _I_ played dirty?” Tooru grouses around the hand clamped down on his bloody nose. Scarlet is already smeared on his chin and is in danger of dripping onto his shirt.

Daichi, to the best of his ability, appears unaffected as he approaches Tooru. “I did say not to get healers involved, but please, let me see that.”

“You owe me a favor,” Tooru says around a vicious, red smile.

Daichi does not regret calling down that brusque healer on him.

While Tetsurou glares at the back of the healer’s head (and continues to try to make friends with the guards), Daichi rescues Koushi. He does not ask about the lie, knowing the point is that he hadn’t heard; he’s not here for Setarian secrets, after all, and he knows that this had been unfair. “I’m sorry, that didn’t go as I meant,” Daichi says as he touches the cuffs grounding Koushi.

If his fingers linger on his wrist, neither mention it.

“It’s the wisest course of action to win by any means necessary, and you used the best weapon available,” Koushi replies as he sits up. He rubs at his wrists, though he tries to hide the motion.

Daichi takes his hands once again—though a heartbeat later, he realizes he doesn’t know how to progress from here. He has no healer’s touch. Koushi is still seated on the ground, and Daichi is crouched beside him, and they’re both staring at each other, hands clasped.

“Is there anything else you need, my lord?” the healer interrupts.

Daichi jumps away as if burned, and nearly trips over his own boots like some flustered boy. Koushi’s mouth quirks up in yet another smile. Daichi wishes to catalogue all of these smirks and smiles and grins of his, as varied yet common as they are. “I’m fine, thank you,” Koushi tells the man. “How is General Oikawa?”

“You didn’t break his nose, though you certainly tried,” the man wryly replies. “No Setarian Generals will die on Amicoran soil today, pity as it is.”

“ _Discretion_ , healer!” Tetsurou snaps.

The healer spares him a cool look over his shoulder before bowing to Daichi and dismissing himself.

“That’s the closest either of us have been to insulted since we arrived here. Not a bad record to have, Your Highness,” Koushi points out.

“My father the King…”

“Hardly addressed us directly, in lieu of my mother,” Tooru mutters. “I’m not remaining in this company if it’s just to bleed. Your Highness, I will see to you another time. General Sugawara—”

“Today was enough. I know where you sleep, Tooru,” Koushi brightly tells him.

Tooru doesn’t have much to say about that. Daichi wishes he could ask, but he’ll leave their privacy be.

Not that Koushi cares much for privacy when he leans into Daichi’s space and _doesn’t_ whisper, but nearly sings, right in his ear, “I’ll try to pin _you_ again later, if you’ll permit me, Your Highness.”

Daichi quickly excuses himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi loses his temper, and so suffers the consequences.


	6. blood boiling hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Still tickling your kitten?” Asahi asks flatly. Tetsurou jumps at once, stifling a yelp, and twists to stare at them with a particularly guilty expression.
> 
> He holds up a tiny calico kitten like a defense. “What are you two doing down here?” he pitifully asks.
> 
> “Our Prince is bored and restless.”

Daichi would not say he’s _avoiding_ his problems. He is not that sort of man; he will not unduly put off anything that ought to be finished.

That said, he may, perhaps, be avoiding certain parties. Not that they are problems. Oh, truly, the idea of Tooru with a royal favor waiting in his greedy little hands is an unwelcome prospect, and Koushi continues to be some nightmarish mixture of the bane of his existence and a reason to leave bed every morning. It’s easier to focus on other matters at hand than either of the problematic Generals.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he wants to look over treaty drafts, either. Daichi is certain his eyes will begin bleeding soon if he must reread it once more.

So he’s going to focus on other things for the time being. There is no shame in taking a break, as Asahi frequently informs him.

Even if said man eyes Daichi with undue judgment for the way they skulk around the palace now. It’s impossible to keep track of both Koushi and Tooru when they have no schedules they share or habits Daichi can pin down outside of terrorizing the kitchens. He knows the Lord-General should be in the Royal Academy today with a tour from the royal professors.

So he just has to avoid the kitchens and the Academy.

It’s a terrible pity he’s hungry _and_ he wants to read something that isn’t political.

“Where _is_ that errand boy?” Daichi huffs under his breath.

“There _are_ other pages, my prince,” Asahi reminds him. He dutifully checks around another corner for any errant Generals, finds none, and Daichi skirts around the corner himself like a criminal on the run. Asahi is kind enough not to outright laugh at him. “Or, if you’d like, _I_ could fetch us food.”

“The last thing either of us need is my father spotting you or Tetsurou without me or not at any post. But where _is_ Tetsurou?!” Sure, it is not Tetsurou’s duty to be with Daichi for the day, but neither is he on any patrols, or in his quarters.

Daichi is _not_ paranoid to wish to prevent either of his closest friends from further consorting with the Setarian nationals, is he?

“Probably with that missing page,” Asahi mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, my prince. Please, let’s just find some quiet parlor to eat in. I’m sure we can find _someone_ to deliver food to the Crown Prince.”

“I can _hear_ you rolling your eyes at me,” Daichi snaps without true heat.

“I would _never_ , my prince,” Asahi replies, with that very same tone.

“What was his name…?” Daichi struggles with names on the best of days, but he knows Tetsurou has reprimanded him many times for forgetting that particular boy’s.

“You get so focused on little details,” Asahi sighs, relents, then thoughtfully hums. “I can’t really remember either, right now, but I’m certain Tetsurou would.”

“Not that it helps us at this moment.” He swears he’s going to compile a list for himself—this is ridiculous. He’s been getting better with various professors and students in the Academy due to how often he’s spent time studying politics and treaties there, at least; he’s had several conversations with Alisa in the past few days and can safely say he remembers her name with regularity now. “We don’t know where he is, either. Do you think he’s off with Koutarou?”

“If he’s in no other easy spots, then that seems likely.”

“It would be easier to find a witch than that man. I want to find Koutarou, then.”

They’re hardly down the hallway before the witch himself appears. Daichi freezes and Asahi jumps back like a startled cat, but Koutarou doesn’t seem to be in too bad of mood. He’s also sans Tetsurou. “You called, Daichi? I mean, you didn’t summon me, but it was this itch, and I don’t really want to deal with that right now, so I figured I’d drop in.”

“I apologize,” Daichi stiffly replies. He struggles to get his heart back under control. “I-I didn’t mean to interrupt your day…”

Koutarou adjusts his wide-brimmed hat, eyes nearly crossed and tongue stuck out in concentration. So it comes off as dismissive when he says, “Well, you did, but it’s okay. I feel as if we haven’t seen each other much recently. Are you still avoiding the Generals?”

“I’m not _avoiding_ —”

“So that’s a yes. Don’t worry, they’re not anywhere near here.”

“We were actually looking for Tetsurou. Have you seen him today?” Asahi gently breaks in.

“Oh, yeah! I was actually with him and Kenma. It was kind of funny to watch him tickle his kitten.”

“Tickle his… _What_ kind of polite phrasing is _that_?”

“Kenma! That was his name!” Daichi exclaims, annoyed he forgot it at all. Again. He doesn’t need any more of Tetsurou’s complaining in his ear about rudeness and kindness. “I need to—”

“I can lead you to them!” Koutarou desperately interrupts. Daichi gives him a strange look, but Koutarou doesn’t pay it any heed, and instead loops their arms together. His usual forwardness is familiar, but also reminds him of Koushi.

Not that he wants to think about him right now.

(When he thinks of him now, his thoughts are tinged with knowledge of how he moves.)

“We didn’t mean to interrupt your leisure, too,” Daichi protests. “I’d assumed you were spending time together, but this isn’t necessary…”

“I’m already here! It’s on my way back!”

“If you say so…” His behavior is strange, but then again, when _isn’t_ it? Daichi uneasily dismisses his concern. This is a far sight better than an aggravated or jealous witch.

Koutarou leads them through silent hallways and two secret corridors—one Daichi hadn’t even known of, to his spluttering irritation—to a quiet part of the lower floors. Everything is stone here, less ornate, just like near the guards’ quarters. Koutarou puts a finger to his lips before turning one last corner, and Daichi and Asahi creep forward silently while Koutarou floats a bit off the floor.

Kenma is indeed seated beside Tetsurou, and his eyes snap up to them despite the lack of sound. Koutarou grins, and Daichi offers an uncomfortable kind of nod. Tetsurou, back to them, is hunched over beside the page, half-hidden by a few crates that haven’t made it to any storerooms yet.

“Still tickling your kitten?” Asahi asks flatly. Tetsurou jumps at once, stifling a yelp, and twists to stare at them with a particularly guilty expression.

He holds up a tiny calico kitten like a defense. “What are you two doing down here?” he pitifully asks.

“Our Prince is bored and restless.”

“And he wanted to see Kenma!” Koutarou adds.

“Just to send for Tetsurou… Or food.”

Asahi sighs like a particularly disappointed parent and pushes Daichi down to the floor beside Tetsurou. Here, he can see a mother cat with a litter of fluffy kittens, curled up in a nest made of someone’s shirt. Daichi has a guess as to whose it is. The kittens are old enough to have their eyes open, though not yet strong enough to truly run about.

Tetsurou sets down the one in his hand like it’s made of glass. “You miss me so much you had to come bother me on my day off?” He strokes the kitten with a single finger, and it squeals and tries to bat at him in an ungainly, adorable fashion.

“People get lonely sometimes,” Koutarou sneers, and uses Daichi’s head as a place to lean. “Don’t fault the prince for that! Otherwise wouldn’t you just be down here alone with the cats in the dark?”

“Koutarou,” Kenma says, and Koutarou drops the matter, though he sticks his tongue out at him. The boy stands, dusting off his loose trousers, and gives the litter of kittens one last, longing look. Then, all business. “What would you like me to fetch from the kitchens, Your Highness?”

“You, er, don’t have to if you’re busy,” Daichi replies.

Kenma gives him a long, flat look; what business would a page have that a prince couldn’t interrupt? Still, Daichi feels awkward, and he’s _very_ aware of Tetsurou sending him sad, pleading looks on his other side. Koutarou puts a little more weight on him, and Daichi bends beneath him.

“Just sit back down,” Daichi wearily commands.

With a cheerful whoop, Koutarou plops down, and Kenma delicately sits back down by the mother cat.

This works as a distraction for the day.

 

—

 

It is completely by accident that Daichi interrupts the King and Lord-General’s tea time.

It is a surreal experience to see both leaders casually sitting near each other without weapons drawn or teeth at each other’s throats, and stranger still when Lord-General Oikawa gives him a cool look and says, “Come, Your Highness. Please join us for afternoon tea.”

Daichi’s arms are laden with books and he can _feel_ Asahi behind him break into a cold sweat. He’s busy. He cannot _tell her_ this, if she’s already ignoring his appearance. “I, um.” Propriety has deserted him in the face of his own nerves.

“How busy you are, visiting the Academy at all times of day,” his father says thinly. “Surely my son could enjoy a break from all his hard, hard work.”

Daichi swallows and bows his head. “O-Of course, Father.” He turns—Asahi cannot carry all of these by himself, and he’s meant to remain by Daichi, anyway—but the short, dark-haired boy with the braid is already _there_ , as if by magic. He stands just out of sight of the doorway, at casual attention, like he’s been there the entire time. They need to put a bell on him or something. 

He holds out his arms.

Daichi doesn’t know how he expects this thin page to carry all of these books, but he takes Daichi’s with no effort, and tries to take Asahi’s, too, despite the guard’s increasing whine.

“Azumane, you’re dismissed for the afternoon,” his father says tersely.

Asahi stiffens as though struck. He looks very much like he would like to throw the books to the ground in order to stay with Daichi, but Daichi gives him a pointed nod, and Asahi bows as low as his burden will allow. He shuffles out after…

_What had been his name again?_

“Come, sit with us,” the Lord-General says amicably and gestures to a chair closer to her. His father glowers at him for it, but Daichi takes the offered seat with a short bow in her direction. “The days here pass by so peacefully, this far south. So slowly. They seem so long without warfronts at your doorstep,” she says and sips at her tea. She sighs in contentment. “It feels as if I haven’t seen you for some time, Crown Prince, though I know objectively that isn’t the case. Have the other Generals been keeping you occupied?”

“I suppose,” Daichi murmurs. He waits with clenched fists while his own cup is prepared, and he eagerly grasps it despite its heat, and makes no move to drink. It steadies his hands. “Have you and my father been staying civil?”

“He has busied me with tours of the gardens, the Royal Academy, the palace, the grounds—anything to keep me out of his own thinning hair.”

“Surely even _part_ of a rulership such as you, Lord-General, knows the amount of effort that goes into running a country,” the King replies coldly. “I have been busy.”

“One day, Masakazu, I would adore the opportunity to invite you to see the sights of the capital. It’s lovely in the autumn.” When she sets down her cup, she twists her wrist just enough that her sleeve falls up and off of the cuff she wears. It’s the most skin Daichi has ever seen of hers. “Of course, as a special visitor in the country, you would be open to just as many as hospitalities as you’ve shown us?”

“Even with magic on you, your tongue is slyer than a snake’s,” his father grumbles and takes a long drink from his cup.

Daichi doesn’t want to be here. He hasn’t been served any of the little frosted cakes that lay untouched in the middle of the table, but he still wishes he could stuff them all in his mouth so he won’t be called upon to get between them.

“Your son doesn’t think so,” the Lord-General mildly remarks.

Maybe if he chokes on the little cakes, it would be kinder.

“I’m very glad that this kind of hardheadedness doesn’t run in your family, Your Majesty. The Crown Prince is a _pleasure_ to work with,” she continues with a voice like silk. Daichi hears the steel beneath it.

“Daichi is more stubborn than all of your council combined. You just think because you can use him—”

“Why would I want to use the Crown Prince of Amicora?”

“Listen to your own words, woman, and don’t feign empty air between those ears. I’m content to let Daichi speak with you as the Prince, but I also know he’s smarter than to fall for your smooth talking,” the king concludes with a triumphant curl of his mouth.

“I only speak honesty in your halls, Your Majesty,” the Lord-General replies. “Now, Prince Daichi, please, tell me—have you and the boys been getting along?”

The King breaks into raucous, surprised laughter, nearly upending his teacup. Daichi swiftly raises his so it doesn’t spill from the force with which the man bangs on the table. “You don’t even—you should treat your men with more respect, Nanashi! And in front of _us_?!” the King nearly shouts between his frenzied laughter.

The Lord-General doesn’t bat an eye, at the laughter nor at the way it winds down into a few rough coughs. “Tooru is literally my son, Masakazu. Both of my children are Generals in their own right, but this does not negate them of their parentage.”

“And of General Sugawara? Are you playing family in that capital of yours up north? Do they learn all of their bloodletting habits from you, then—is bloodthirst hereditary?”

“Father,” Daichi tries, weakly.

“I’d far rather be accused of coddling _my own children_ than to throwing mine to foreign leaders like a babe to a wolf,” she tells him. “Or were you hoping I’d take pity on him for that very same reason? Provide a soft target for the mother in me, try to get what you want through him?”

“Believe me, for once—this was all my son’s doing. I’m surprised you couldn’t tell the difference, considering it’s no secret what I think of you and your people.”

“Yes, there’s certainly few secrets between us and my thoughts on _your_ people—”

“Both of you, hold your tongues for once in your lives!” Daichi furiously bursts out.

The silence that falls is ringing, deafening. A quieter, saner part of him is mortified by his words, his tone and his volume, but that part so rarely holds the reins when his loses his temper.

Neither the King nor the Lord-General look surprised, though both had jumped at first. His father is livid, shoulders tense and up near his clenched jaw, whereas the Lord-General suddenly appears as though she is made of pure ice.

But neither speak, granting Daichi his wish.

“You are both leaders of countries, of armies and soldiers and servants. You are the leading figures for _people_. And yet, even with so many dying at _your_ orders, you bicker like drunk dogs in plush, private parlors. My father the King is right— _I_ am the one who summoned you here, so as such, _I_ am the one in charge of this event,” Daichi announces with all the sternness and growling that his father usually praises him for.

(A firm hand is all that man ever respects. Daichi knows this now more than ever.)

“Your Majesty,” Daichi grinds out as he makes a conscious effort to unclench his fists, “your input is valuable and I am grateful for it. I would ask for it only in privacy from this point forward. And Lord-General, I would thank you for your discretion in times such as these. You’re renowned for a clear head and a fair view of the world, and I would hate to come to know this as some sort of _wildly_ inaccurate rumor.”

He finishes with a deep breath he wishes released the remnants of the anger within him. He still feels as if he’s boiling over, but he doesn’t dare say more. He already knows he’ll get another whipping for this, and he isn’t certain his father would even have the grace to wait until the peace talks are over. Daichi finally unclenches his shaking hands.

“If you’ll excuse me. Lord-General, I shall send for someone to escort you back to any other wing of the palace of your choosing.” Daichi gives them both a curt bow he hopes doesn’t come off as panicked, and he marches from the room without a look back at either of them.

 

—

 

Daichi is wrong; it isn’t a whipping this time.

“You had such a mouth earlier. You _must_ have the spine to back it up!” his father calls with venom dripping from each word. Daichi isn’t certain he’s heard the man sound like that before. That’s the voice he must use to order so many deaths in this too-long war, Daichi supposes.

He brings up his arms to shield his head, but he’s already dazed and one eye is nearly swollen shut. His stance is sloppy and he doesn’t _dare_ fight back in any earnest attempt. This is a beating under the guise of training with knights, and Daichi will take it as such.

He won’t say anything about the bruises, not even some flimsy cover. His father doesn’t deserve it.

Daichi doesn’t want to take power from his father, but he _does_ realize that men like this don’t deserve power, either. He doesn’t deserve the crown, he doesn’t deserve his country or his people.

He tries to duck under a punch but someone else grabs his short hair and holds him down to deliver a punishing knee up to his stomach. Daichi gasps, coughs, and struggles to remain upright. It takes him a moment to straighten again, gasping for breath, arms still raised as much as he can. When he does, he spits out a mouthful of sour blood onto the dirt below. The men wait for him to recover. This is supposedly training, after all.

The King found loyal knights-to-be this time, ones who won’t question why they’re bloodying the Crown Prince. His father learned his lesson, and Daichi has learned which people to be wary of.

The lines are being drawn, bolder and bolder, and he hates it.

 

—

 

“Why don’t you like that healer?” Daichi asks, staring at the draped canopy of his bed.

“You’ve forgotten his name,” Tetsurou replies. He’s supposed to be smug or amused, not like this.

“Remind me?”

“It’s Morisuke, my prince,” Asahi gently answers in lieu of another one of Tetsurou’s gritted-teeth words. “He’s been one of the Royal Healers for several years now.”

“I don’t recall needing one so frequently in years past,” Daichi defends, half-heartedly at best. “Both of you, please, stop treating me as I’m made of glass. I knew what I was doing.”

“ _No_ , you let your temper get the better of you again!” Tetsurou snaps.

There it is.

Tetsurou’s weight dips the bed, and Daichi tries not to cringe at the feeling of his aching body moving any more than it must. “Your father is a horrible, awful bastard, but _you_ ran your mouth in front of him. In front of the Lord-General! You’re lucky he didn’t frame this as some kind of punishment for rudeness to her. Good luck recovering from _that_ , not that you were thinking at all of the consequences—”

“Tetsurou!” Asahi breaks in and pulls him harshly from the bed. “ _You’re_ the one losing control now. What’s done is done. Stop talking this way.”

“Who knows who my father has on his side,” Daichi murmurs.

“Oh, so you admit there are sides now?” Tetsurou replies, still mean with his anger. Daichi knows he doesn’t mean it, knows he’ll be sick with guilt over this later. It tempers his frustration in the present.

A clamor out in the hallway interrupts them. Daichi is nearly thankful for it.

Asahi goes to the door, but he hardly opens it before Koushi tumbles inward, one of the Setarian guards on top of him. Daichi doesn’t recognize the man for a moment—this is not the smirking one with the light hair that he’s used to seeing around Koushi, but the taller and more impassive one he associates with Tooru. There is no second Setarian General that comes through the doorway, however.

“We beg your forgiveness, Crown Prince,” the guard says. His voice is deep and soft and not apologetic at all. The man climbs off of Koushi, still struggling beneath him, and restrains him with astonishing ease. The size difference between them is almost comical. “We had heard—stop squirming, you’re a _General_ , aren’t you? Act like it, Suga.”

“I’m not a General!” Koushi says and the magic snaps his wrists together. He shoves his weight backward at the last moment, and ends up on top of his guard, magic and weight pinning him.

“What a sight this is,” Asahi groans, one hand pressed over his face, like he may faint. (Daichi _has_ seen the man faint at the sight of blood, but never scandal.) “G-General, please, control yourself!”

“We’d heard that the Crown Prince has been hurt,” Koushi replies, eyes locked onto Daichi on the bed. Despite how he’d been kicking and spitting like a feral cat, his face is utterly impassive. “And we had heard unfortunate rumors.”

“Half the castle must know about it, the way you’d been carrying on,” the guard deadpans beneath him.

“Er, well, thank you for your concern,” Daichi replies, avoiding eye contact with Koushi’s hard stare. He doesn’t want to approach him to release the magic. “But it’s nothing you should worry about.”

“It paints a certain kind of picture when an enemy general comes flying across half the palace just when he hears of _unfortunate rumors_ about the Crown Prince’s health,” Tetsurou comments, leering down at them both.

“What kind of picture is that?” Koushi shoots back.

“People may get ideas,” Tetsurou baits again.

“Like what? Clarify, guard. You wouldn’t want enemy generals to get odd notions about what you’re implying.”

“Thank the stars neither of _you_ are in charge of anything,” Koushi’s guard says. “Your Highness, could you please get this off of me now? I’ll escort him back where he _should_ be.”

Daichi tries his damnedest, but he cannot bite back the pained groan he makes when he gets to his feet. Koushi has gone very still, watching him like a predator that has scented blood. Daichi curses himself for the imagery. Tetsurou has a point—why would Koushi bother rushing here, certainly the Lord-General had already informed the other two (smugly?) about what had transpired—but yet he had. Koushi had ignored his own guard to do so.

So whose orders were the guard following, if not Koushi’s?

Koushi had mentioned them switching guards, so perhaps it means Tooru had wanted to avoid this kind of scene. Which still begs the question of why Koushi bothered. Daichi is in no danger of dying.

Asahi lends him a steadying hand as Daichi kneels down to release the magic in the cuffs. Daichi opens his mouth—he means to explain that he’s already seen the healer and he’s just sore, he’s _fine_ , Koushi should concern himself over other matters—but as soon as his hands are free, Koushi reaches up to cup Daichi’s face.

Even with the bruises, Koushi’s touch is so feather-light that Daichi feels no pain at all.

Their faces are incredibly close like this. Daichi leans forward, just the smallest bit, though whether from his own unsteadiness or Koushi softly guiding him forward, he doesn’t know. His hands are warm and dry and feel so comfortable, such a pleasant point to the aching deep in his bones.

Daichi doesn’t know what he hopes for with his proximity.

“I was worried,” Koushi tells him, voice hardly more than a breath.

“Never would have guessed,” Tetsurou says loudly. And he utterly breaks the spell.

Daichi rocks backward, Asahi catching him with a confused noise, and Koushi’s guard rolls to his feet and picks Koushi up like he’s an unruly child. (The noise Koushi makes doesn’t deter this.) “If you’ll excuse us,” the guard says dryly, and with his arms tight around Koushi’s middle and complete disinterest back on his face, he marches back out of Daichi’s bedchambers.

Hardly a full moment passes before they hear an aggravated “I hate spicy food!” and then the heavy _whump_ of someone hitting the carpet again.

“Can we just leave them out there? Please?” Tetsurou asks, and even Asahi nods reluctantly.

“This seems more trouble than it’s worth, my prince.”

“I have to release him,” Daichi points out, and with help, he limps out into the hallway. They find the guard standing over Koushi, who’s face-down in the carpet with his arms trapped beneath him. When he raises his head, however, he’s smirking. “We never meant for these cuffs to be weaponized,” Daichi tells him.

“Then you’re not very good at thinking things out before they have the potential to become problems, are you?”

“Why are you down in this wing?”

“I have orders to gag you if you continue acting like this,” the guard drawls, utterly bored, and folds his arms loosely across his chest. “You’re causing more havoc than you’re worth.”

“Tell Tooru I’m doing my _job_. And _you’re_ the one causing a scene. I would just like to express concern in private with the Crown Prince.”

“I’m fine,” Daichi repeats. “Please, don’t fuss over me. This wasn’t—it should be no concern to a General, surely, what happens to me.”

“We’re _very_ invested in you,” the guard replies. He holds out an arm for Daichi to take as he kneels again. He has to get a hand beneath Koushi’s belly to reach the cuffs this time, and Koushi wiggles with a whine as he does so.

“Are you _ticklish_?” Daichi asks before he can restrain his curiosity.

“No,” Koushi replies. The magic does not reactivate. “There’s an old scar there. It felt strange. It’s not as if I’m accustomed to having your hands on me all that often, Your Highness.”

“Is now really the time for further flirting?” Tetsurou asks archly. Koushi’s guard snorts, unattractively at that. “General, allow me to escort you and your personal attendant back to your wing.”

“I’m a lieutenant and personal bodyguard for one of the Generals. And he technically outranks me.”

Daichi doesn’t understand a culture in which a person can freely manhandle his superior officer, complain about orders, and seem to _thrive_ off of deadpan disrespect. Koushi smiles at the expression he makes, and cups his face once more.

“It sounds like I really must return. I hope you recover quickly, Your Highness,” he says and his smile softens even more by the end. “Please know, while in no official regard, that I do hope whoever is responsible for your state is brought to due justice.”

There’s no possible _way_ that the Generals don’t know what happened with his father. Daichi swallows, and nods. Koushi knows this, and hadn’t been lying.

And it suddenly clicks with Daichi: the Generals, potentially even the Lord-General herself, favor _him_. They could have seen this as a power bid by Daichi all along. His father had feared the same possibility—even now? Daichi had pushed the matter from his mind, so intent on the damned peace talks and treaty writing, had known that he would never usurp his father, that he forgot about how this all must appear to outsiders.

And Koushi is saying they favor _him_.

He has enemy Generals on his side in a power struggle he doesn’t want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: When others are helpful, Daichi can't help but be suspicious. But perhaps some stress relief is needed, after all.


	7. don't trust the heart, it wants your blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But think of his many good qualities!” Koushi exclaims and takes a step toward Daichi, to loop their arms, like he’s physically taking his side.
> 
>  _Oh no_ , Daichi thinks, both of his words and of the weight pressed against him.

“If I drink more and don’t move, it doesn’t hurt,” Daichi groans against the tabletop. The not moving part is the easiest. Drinking more is difficult when both his advisors are—would be—against him, were they here with him. But they’re not.

Koutarou, however, is not against him, and that’s the most powerful friend Daichi could ask for.

“‘Cept for Generals,” Daichi adds without meaning. He accidentally slips forward, shoulder protesting, pain coming out in a garbled kind of whine. “F- _Fuck_. I need more…” What had he been drinking? He doesn’t remember. He has a sour, thick taste in his mouth, nearly as unsavory as the residual ache in his body.

Koutarou slides across another cup with a smile. “First you shout at your father, then you shout at the Lord-General, _then_ you manage to figure out what they’re up to?”

“You knew?” Daichi slurs with utter betrayal.

“I know a lot of things. I suspect a lot of things. D’you want me to tell you _everything_? The last time I did that, the person I was with went mad,” Koutarou says happily and props Daichi up, despite his grunts, in order to push the cup into his hands.

“Why are they like this, Kou?”

“Oh, I love it when you call me that.”

“Why does everyone just—just do this kind of horse shit _all_ the time? Why doesn’t anyone _care_ about anything that isn’t themselves?” Daichi growls into his drink. He tips it back, and only a little slops down his chin. He has no idea what to make of the taste, except he is certain he’s never had anything like it before. “ _What_ are you makin’ me drink, Kou?”

Koutarou preens with the nickname. “Don’t ask questions like that! Just let it all out, okay? No big bad guards to yell at you, no Kings or Generals or anyone else. Just you and me, Daichi.”

Daichi sets the mostly-empty mug back down, but when it hits, the liquid sloshes over the lip again. He peers down, stupefied. Hadn’t he just drank this…?

“Tell me more,” Koutarou purrs. His eyes glimmer and swirl with molten gold.

Daichi’s head lolls, and his eyelids droop. Koutarou rights him again with a hand against his jaw. His touch is far from the delicate touch of that General, but it’s also pleasantly numbed. The most Daichi can feel is the coolness of the witch’s skin.

“Do you still want peace when they’re using you? Have you figured out what they want from you, or are you still so adorably dense?” He brings up his other hand, too, and squishes Daichi’s cheeks between them. Daichi scowls to the best of his ability. Everything still feels fuzzy.

“I don’t want this war,” he stubbornly maintains.

“So how far are you gonna go to stop it? What if it just leads to more bloodshed, what then, Daichi?”

“Why would it?”

“No one is as good as you think you are. Setaria hopes for a coup, and your father hopes for some excuse to continue this war. Maybe the same way he started it,” Koutarou muses. Daichi’s eyes flutter again, but what attention he has, he devotes to the pretty gold of Koutarou’s gaze before him.

As such, his words don’t really process.

By the time Koutarou realizes this, Daichi is too far gone for the night.

Daichi wakes up the next morning with a roaring hangover and no idea how he earned it.

 

—

 

“Do you think me an usurper?” Daichi demands of the Lord-General.

She blinks up at him over the rim of her teacup. It’s from one of their finest sets, an old favorite of his mother’s. He’s fairly certain his father would never allow this woman to touch it. “And a good day to you as well, Your Highness. I see you are still in a mood over my treatment of your father the King,” she coolly replies.

“That has no bearing whatsoever on my mood,” Daichi replies, calmly as he can, despite how this woman riles him now that he knows what she truly thinks of him. Or… he suspects he does. He struggles not to let his temper best him yet again. “I wish to talk frankly with you, and I _will_ as the host of this summit. Do you think me an usurper aiming for the crown?”

The Lord-General takes a long, loud sip. “You are so like your father, yet only in bursts,” she says at last. It is no compliment. “What sort of fool do you take me for? I would very much prefer you to be an usurper, of course. I want this war done with as much as you, but I also want to ensure this kind of tragedy doesn’t repeat itself. Someone committed to peace, rather than conquest, would be a wonderful ally.”

Daichi grits his teeth. He will not raise a hand against her, though he wishes to.

“That said, it is not our intention to stage any kind of coup,” she adds as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can check the cuffs if you’d like to be assured of this fact.”

“I trust our court witch’s magic,” Daichi thinly replies.

“It’s fine if you don’t trust me. You only need to be committed to your cause.”

“What are the other Generals here for?”

“It’s to show our commitment to—”

“What are they _really_ here for,” Daichi growls.

She sighs, indulgently, and sets her cup down. “To endear themselves to you. To ensure treaty writing goes as smoothly as possible.” Lord-General Oikawa crosses one leg over the other knee, folds her hands in her lap, and smiles pleasantly at him. Daichi sees the familial resemblance between her and Tooru now more than ever. He can only imagine what her eldest must be like. “People are kinder to ones they like, are they not?”

“I’ve accused General Sugawara of attempting a seduction, but he managed to deny it without lying,” Daichi replies. Her expression does not change. “Unless there are some cultural differences I’m unaware of. Because I would not put it past anyone to exploit such loopholes.”

“Relax, Your Highness. No one is here to trick you into bed or to giving up any national secrets. Unless you’d _rather_ someone try to influence you via your manhood, but that’s not something I’d like to think about concerning my Generals. You’re an adult, and so are they. You would hardly be the first world leader to have an indiscretion like that.”

“I don’t want any more of your mind games, Lord-General. Tell me plainly: do you have any true desire for a treaty with Amicora?”

“Yes,” she replies.

“A treaty to end the war.”

“ _Yes_.”

“And you are not trying to influence a coup in a foreign nation.”

“Whatever happens, happens,” the Lord-General flippantly replies, but quickly amends, “but that is not our intention now.”

“Thank you for your time,” Daichi tells her, and she inclines her head before taking another dainty drink. “But I would appreciate your Generals’ discretion on matters of my royal blood. You are here for peace talks, nothing more.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

 

—

 

Daichi isn’t certain which number of draft he’s working on now. Most don’t make it to the Lord-General’s hand, but those that have have been shot down thus far. He needs to do better. The woman _claims_ to desire peace, so why is she fighting him so hard on this?

“It’s not as if she gives me any _suggestions_ ,” Daichi grumbles to the stupid sheaf of papers spread across his desk. He hates these papers. He hates political talk. He hates treaty writing. “I’d give up all the gold I own if people spoke what was on their mind.” It’s not very much gold, these days.

“I could use a pay raise,” Tetsurou says as he drapes himself over the back of Daichi’s chair. His weight only makes Daichi groan all the more; there are still lingering, yellowed bruises littering his body. At least the black eye is largely gone.

“You could afford to speak what’s on your mind _less_.”

“As could you. What’s on _your_ mind that’s so vexing?”

“What else? Those damned Generals.”

“Generals, plural, or just a particular one?” Tetsurou leers.

“No, the Lord-General has told me she doesn’t want to cause some kind of coup.”

“That isn’t what I meant, Daichi,” Tetsurou says and pushes off of him with a laugh. Daichi grunts again, but the noise melts into a sigh as soon as Tetsurou puts his hands on his back. He digs his thumbs into the meat above his shoulder blades, then works his way down with ruthless efficiency.

“Mm. Then what…?”

“Ask General Sugawara to show you a few fighting moves. I’m sure he’d be pleased, and it would give you the space to speak without the risk of General Oikawa—the little one—interrupting. I doubt he wants another bloody nose.”

“Why do I need to speak to him? I’d rather just get this treaty— _ahh_ , right there,” Daichi cuts himself off with a low, breathy moan and leans further into Tetsurou’s touch. The man is rarely so indulgent with him; Daichi could get used to this sort of treatment.

Tetsurou leans down to whisper, directly into Daichi’s ear, “What if I offered to spend the afternoon working on the treaty for you? A fresh eye may do it wonders.”

“You’re being so kind. What are you planning, Kuroo?” Daichi asks, and he tries for stern. It comes out nearer pitiful.

“Why are you questioning my kindness? Don’t you trust me?”

“Not as far as I could throw you,” Daichi huffs.

“Oh, my lord, I’m _wounded_.” Tetsurou makes his own sad little sound right in Daichi’s ear, a little too loud; it grates against his nerves, an unfortunate counterpoint to the magic Tetsurou works with his fingers. “You are a ball of stress, Daichi, and you’re liable to have another unfortunate outburst if you don’t work some of this off. You’re least likely to offend General Sugawara, so go and try to make headway on this front. We’ll be here to work on your seventeenth treaty draft.”

“ _Seventeen_?” Daichi groans. He’d rather have seventeen knife wounds. At the very least he could bleed out in dignity.

“Eighteenth if you count when you had to scratch out two pages because you messed up the reparation rates for the Black Forest.”

The poor forest had gotten razed during a battle of attrition some years ago, and nothing had been able to grow in the soil since. Daichi doesn’t hold many grudges, but that land had been culturally and economically important to their northeasternmost province. “I don’t want to count that. I don’t want to hit twenty drafts,” Daichi says, defeated by the thought of any further work today. “Before I say I’m convinced, answer me one last question.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Who is _we_?”

Tetsurou’s hands still at once. “Eh?”

“You said _we_ will work on the draft. Asahi has to attend to me, and you are just as sick of the professors and tutors and their brand of help as I am.”

Tetsurou slowly releases him, as much a confession of guilt as anything else, and Daichi just as slowly turns in his seat. Tetsurou won’t look at him and pretends to find a portrait on the far wall quite interesting. It’s a painting of Daichi’s great uncle, and the man was _not_ attractive. He had been far too fond of gold. Tetsurou had made fun of it on more than one occasion.

“Koutarou is not to go near these treaties,” Daichi orders.

Tetsurou’s shoulders slump. He appears more relieved than disappointed. “Oh, yes. Of course not! What kind of fool do you take me for?” He tries to recover with a hand on his hip and a cocky grin, but Daichi is not falling for it.

“I know _exactly_ the kind of fool you become when he’s around. I don’t need either of you doing something like—like I don’t know. Setting my drafts on fire or managing to ruin these textbooks.”

“I would never!” Tetsurou gasps, falsely scandalized. “I won’t stand for these horrible accusations! Go, talk to your General, learn a thing or two while you’re at it. The treaties will still be here when you return to angst further over them.”

“I’m just frustrated enough to allow this,” Daichi replies. He rolls his shoulders back, just once, and sighs, satisfied, at the _cracks_ he hears. “Just… Thank you, Tetsurou.”

He gives a mock salute as Daichi departs.

 

—

 

Koushi isn’t in the kitchens, or in the Academy when he asks a couple of the students he finds. It’s normally easier to know roughly where any of the Generals are—despite the length of their stay, they still draw undue attention—so this stumps Daichi. The Lord-General is in the gallery, his father is talking with the returned General Ushijima in his private study, and Daichi is running out of places to check.

He has yet to venture into the guest wing, however. He hasn’t been there since the Generals came, respecting their privacy—and perhaps avoiding them. But mostly preserving their privacy. Staff members have informed him of general goings-on and ensuring nothing untoward has happened, but he’s been perfectly content to let them have their space.

But if Koushi is nowhere else…

Asahi doesn’t comment on his search nor how Tetsurou got him to take a break, but he does keep a little closer as soon as they head down the northern wing. Nothing has changed about the main hallway outside of the strange guard in the dark Setarian uniform standing nearer the guest chambers. But the place still feels strange. Just as foreign as the people staying there.

“Is General Sugawara in his chambers?” Daichi asks the guard, unwilling to venture further into the hallway than necessary.

“Unlikely,” the guard replies. Daichi stares her down until she adds, “General Oikawa is in the bath, but General Sugawara slipped out. Again.”

“Slipped out?” Asahi asks in surprise.

“He does that,” the guard deadpans. “One of General Oikawa’s attendants may be able to tell you where he went, but I believe they were both with him. Shall I send for any of them?”

“No, thank you,” Daichi absently replies. _Wasn’t there a lack of bath sharing in Setaria?_ It’s strange to think of Koushi as the shy one, but compared to Tooru, well, many would pale in comparison.

But if he’s not here, then where else would Koushi be?

The thought comes to him in a flash. Daichi grins to himself, and the guard balks.

With newfound determination, Daichi jogs through the palace with Asahi whining after him. “Why are we running? You didn’t find out where your General went!”

“I know where he is!” Daichi calls back over his shoulder.

“And you’re _so_ eager to find him you’ll toss out decorum?”

“If there’s one thing these talks have taught me, it’s that decorum is set by the bold.”

“That’s not befitting a Prince!” Asahi nearly wails.

Daichi about laughs. It may be childish, but it also reminds Daichi of easier times; the maids and knights they pass grin behind hands or wave at them as they race past. Being the only royal child means he has done many things in this palace and their other homes, but running through the corridors is nothing.

He may be older, too old for this, but he has already shouted at the Lord-General, been flirted with by both General Sugawara and General Oikawa, and been whipped by his father, all for the damned treaty he still hasn’t finished.

Daichi is entitled to some foolish antics.

Asahi doesn’t try too hard to stop him, anyway.

As soon as they make it to the right part of the palace, Daichi throws open the doors with both arms. They burst into the warm, bright sunshine and Daichi basks for a glorious moment while Asahi catches up with a reproachful frown. “Outside, my lord?”

“It’s a pleasant day, isn’t it?” Daichi asks in turn. Asahi nods reluctantly. “I have yet to visit the gardens with General Sugawara during daylight hours.”

“And you think he’s wandering about, _outside_ the palace, without a guard or notifying anyone?” Asahi dubiously asks as he scans the grounds. “Like he’s waiting for you to happen by? That is a little too contrived, my lord.”

“Would you like to wager?”

“You don’t make losing bets.”

“No, I don’t. And even if I were to lose, some fresh air would do us good. Let Tetsurou do what he likes in those dusty study rooms.”

“I’m sure he is,” sighs Asahi, “but I suppose we could take a walk to clear our minds. It’s reassuring to see you in a better mood, at any rate. You get scary when you’re cooped up for too long.”

Daichi rewards him with a glare entirely for show. Asahi smiles even as he cringes back.

The day is warm enough that Asahi is folding up his sleeves before they reach the smaller gardens, and Daichi debates doing the same. The few guards with outside routes this time of day nod as they pass, but none are in the garden when they pass the first set of hedges. It feels as if it has been years since Daichi has properly seen this garden; even before the Generals visited, it was Daichi’s go-to place for late night walks, and little else.

It feels nostalgic to see it painted in the full light of the sun.

Daichi ducks beneath his favorite willow trees and the cool shade within. The air feels sweeter here, but there is no errant General enjoying the secretive space. Daichi catches Asahi smiling to himself as they duck back out of the hanging leaves.

The path winds around the memory pond, but save for a few ducks, there’s no one around. The lilies dotting the water are picturesque, however, and Daichi doesn’t hurry to circle around it. Asahi tosses a few stones into the pond, just to watch the water ripple, and one of the ducks comes up to the bank to complain at them. Asahi apologizes to the poor bird and Daichi drags him away before he can get assaulted by it too.

Through the greenery, Daichi catches a flash of white. He tugs Asahi in that direction, though the path doesn’t curve that way. They dodge around branches and hop over a hedge, to find General Sugawara watching them, expectant grin stretching his cheeks.

“You’ve won the wager, it seems,” Asahi murmurs, sounding surprised.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” Koushi calls over as they pick their way through the flowers and bushes. (Asahi frets over trampling anything too badly, so Daichi takes care.) “It seems we had the same idea.”

“Ours a little belated, perhaps,” Asahi innocently comments.

Koushi chuckles goodnaturedly and Daichi rubs the back of his neck, glaring sideways at his guard. Koushi is sans coat and vest in the warm weather, and his thin shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his sternum. His sleeves have been haphazardly rolled up, the same as his trouser legs, and he is yet again barefoot.

“I must ask,” Daichi says, gesturing at his feet, “again, I’m afraid. Why do you have such an aversion to proper footwear?”

“I’m afraid the answer isn’t incredibly proper,” Koushi warns, but Daichi waits him out with crossed arms. “If you must know, Highness, it’s because I really don’t like the boots they issued me. They’re too narrow.”

“Ah, I have that problem a lot,” Asahi offers. “Do you not have cobblers who could help you?”

“Well, Setaria is a country ruled by the military, so everything is military-made. I wear fantastic finery, and it fits very well, but I am lucky with the sizing. Personal adjustments come out of our own salaries.”

“The salary of a General must be nothing to scoff at, surely,” Asahi says, uncomfortable with the topic, but Daichi has to agree with him.

“A good pair of boots is a good investment.”

“It’s just my dress boots,” Koushi indignantly replies, gesturing to the shoes in question. “I _have_ proper boots, and my other shoes, which fit perfectly fine. But, you know, appearances…”

Daichi and Asahi both, very pointedly, look up and down the figure of the poorly-dressed General.

Koushi laughs with too much force and claps Asahi on the back hard enough to stagger him. “Alright, I’m hardly a proper General, but everyone already knows that! I have better things to do with my time than be uncomfortable in too many layers of clothes. It’s not my fault your country is too hot!”

“General, if I may ask a question myself?” Asahi asks, and Koushi cocks his head in half a nod. “I had heard some of the palace staff wondering, and if it’s not too personal a question, were you born in Setaria? Or are you possibly from Canuste?”

Koushi’s hands fly up to his silverite hair, then he shrugs, laughing in a defeated manner. He doesn't appear uncomfortable with the question, however. “Well, I can’t lie, now can I? I suppose it must be obvious with that daughter of Lady Haiba you have in the Academy. Yes, I was born in Canuste.”

“No wonder you grouse about the heat here, you’re a snowman,” Daichi realizes aloud. Koushi arches an eyebrow. “No offense intended! I hadn’t noticed, but that’s some change.”

“Generals aren’t born to their station,” he replies. Now that Daichi is listening for it, he can pick out the odd notes in Koushi’s accent. He had noticed them before, but it’s been long enough that he has gotten used to his voice, and it’s not as if his accent were atrocious like certain other parties’. “I’m sorry to have to ask this of you, but is there any chance I could ask for your discretion on the matter?” Koushi puts both hands up in a pleading gesture, fingers intertwined, and bats his doe eyes at them both.

Daichi is _sinfully_ weak to the overplayed image he prevents. He hadn’t thought it would be possible to be so affected by such a frivolous gesture. That’s… worrisome.

“It’s not anything we like to advertise. You know how nobility is, surely—there are things you don’t speak of in polite company,” Koushi continues, unaware of Daichi’s sudden plight.

“Of course, General. Just like how we don’t discuss our prince’s penchant for staring in polite company,” Asahi replies easily, and it takes Daichi a full moment to rip himself away from Koushi’s pleading look to process what he’d just said.

“Azumane,” he growls, not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed by his cockiness.

“Instead of getting upset with your guard—”

“Because you never have?”

“—give me the tour you promised me!” Koushi finishes without addressing Daichi’s interjection. He beams, brighter than the sun above, and rocks back on his heels. “I’d like to avoid returning inside for the time being, and I know many of the plants and flowers here, but not all. Would it be possible to ask for your escort, Your Highness?”

“Is this because you dodged your guard detail and snuck out?” Daichi asks.

Koushi blanches at getting caught, but he recovers quickly, if not gracefully. “Are you one to talk about sneaking out, Your Highness?”

“ _Are_ you one to talk of sneaking out?” Asahi asks flatly.

Daichi rubs the back of his neck again and avoids looking at either of them. Koushi makes an unfairly triumphant noise.

“Running through halls, yelling in public, sneaking out. You _are_ still a child,” Asahi says in despair. Daichi smacks him, perhaps further proving his point. “General, good luck with him. I don’t understand why you seem so driven on making advances, but know that he’s a handful.”

“ _Asahi_!” Daichi snaps despite Koushi’s musical, lilting laughter. It’s as bright and airy as the day. It sucks much of the indignation from him, though on some level, he must admit to some remaining annoyance with Asahi. It’s rare the man is so mouthy without reason.

“But think of his many good qualities!” Koushi exclaims and takes a step toward Daichi, to loop their arms, like he’s physically taking his side.

 _Oh no_ , Daichi thinks, both of his words and of the weight pressed against him.

“Like what?” Asahi asks with clear (and growing) amusement.

“It’s not often you meet nobility who cares so much for his people, and I mean that in both country and attendants. He has been a very gracious host, too. I adore all of the private tours I’ve been treated to,” Koushi says happily, and Daichi feels as if he may burst into flame. “And look at this body, and his face! I don’t understand why the palace walls aren’t lined with commissioned portraits. Why, he must have a list of marriage candidates from here to the coast.”

 _Now_ he is going to burst into flame. “Y-You’re being too bold, Kou—G-General.”

Koushi peers up at him and Daichi is powerless against his eyes and his proximity. “Would you prefer to drop the formality?” he asks, perfectly innocent.

Daichi isn’t even sure why he almost slipped. “Why are you so forward?” Daichi instead asks.

If Koushi is disappointed, he hides it remarkably well. “What answer has the Lord-General given you this time?”

“What’s the _true_ answer? I don’t like being made a fool of, and I have little patience with mind games. Peace talks come first and I will not have them be made a mockery of.”

“Can’t we return to the lighthearted walks in the gardens? Please, I want to see the hyacinth.” Koushi tugs at his arm as he tries to maintain his smile.

Daichi sighs, nods, and allows them to begin walking. “I don’t mean to get into any arguments. I’m so _tired_ of arguments. But I’m also tired of you Generals running circles around me.”

“Teasing you is fun,” Koushi says with little remorse, “but I don’t enjoy seeing you so stressed, either. You’ll have hair as grey as His Majesty soon enough, and I like being the only one with such a charming shade.”

Daichi doesn’t respond. He tries to salvage his mood, he truly does, but his thoughts tug him back into darker directions. Koushi makes for a good distraction, but he worries that that’s all he may be—a distraction. For _what_ , he doesn’t know, but guilt gnaws at him for enjoying his company as he has.

“She’s my commanding officer,” Koushi says softly, drawing Daichi from his own mind. Daichi looks down at the man on his arm, but Koushi stares ahead at some middle distance. “I can’t lie to you, and I don’t wish to, but you are still an enemy Prince to me, and she is still my superior. Can we return to lighter talks, or would you rather I try to think of some loophole to give you more puzzlingly vague information you’ll just fret over in the dark of night?”

“I’d almost rather the loophole,” Daichi admits. “But I was convinced to take a break today, so I wouldn’t mind just this. One day, I’d like to have a proper talk with you.”

“Well, traditionally, wouldn’t you come to Setaria to sign a treaty?”

“You’re saying I must journey to another country, months from now, in order to earn a conversation where you’re straightforward.”

“I have been _very_ straightforward with you!” Koushi indignantly cries. Asahi, behind them, snickers loudly enough for Daichi to spare him a glare over his shoulder. His attendants should be seen and not heard, now more than ever.

“Let’s not discuss politics or honesty any longer. You wish for a tour, and I’ve been advised to ask you for tips on fighting, so shall we make an afternoon of it?” Daichi offers.

“You want to learn how to fight from _me_?” Koushi asks. His face is screwed up, like he’s trying quite hard not to laugh, or maybe he finds Daichi unbearably confusing.

“You’ve already demonstrated yourself.”

“No, I know I’m more skilled than you, but it is… surprising. I’m unused to teaching anyone anything, much less royalty. I never thought I’d be in this kind of position.”

“You get along well with people, and you have considerable skill,” Daichi tells him. To his delight, this brings a flush to Koushi’s cheeks, and the man swiftly turns from him. “Even General Oikawa seemed wary of sparring with you. Why wouldn’t you be sought after for training?”

“That’s very kind of you to say, but I’m not that highly regarded. Still! I will teach you a secret or two, and hopefully you won’t look like such a fool in the future!”

“Good luck, General,” Asahi unhelpfully chimes in, yet again reminding them of his presence. Daichi normally doesn’t mind his guards, much less Asahi (as opposed to Tetsurou), but Asahi usually isn’t so bold, either. “Unfortunately, my prince has picked up many terrible habits from his advisor. You’ll need considerable skill to fix them.”

“If His Highness thinks I could be a good teacher, then I must be,” Koushi calls back over his shoulder, and hugs Daichi’s arm a bit closer to himself. “Let’s retire to the courtyard after we conclude the tour. It’d be a shame to trample so many beautiful flowers when I throw you into the dirt once again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi shouldn't have trusted any of them.


	8. nothing changes without blood flowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, as _I_ was going over your treaty yesterday out of the goodness of my heart, something occurred to me that could very well explain many, _many_ things about the Generals’ behavior. Did you know historically, many treaties between different countries end in marriage?”

“I heard from a very reputable source that you had some _fun_ yesterday,” Tetsurou announces as he flops down onto Daichi’s bed. Daichi groans, and tries to roll over, but Tetsurou has trapped a good portion of his sheets beneath him. “Wake up, Daichi! Time for another bright day spent with your darling!”

“I’m not leaving this bed, and I’m not facing that man again. How did treaty writing go?”

“Oh, come now, lots of men get hard when—”

“ _Drop the subject_ ,” Daichi commands in his most Princely voice.

“Asahi told me it was a sight more fit for some lewd stage,” Tetsurou sighs dreamily, like he’s imagining it now. Daichi burrows deeper into his covers so he can avoid him. “Or perhaps a brothel? The man enjoys torment. Maybe the General is a sadist.”

“It was supposed to be sparring and some pointers.”

“In my _professional_ opinion—since I have sparred and trained with many soldiers and knights through the years—I can tell you now that no one needs to touch the hips or the ass _that_ much in order to aid positioning. He was very nearly propositioning you, Daichi,” Tetsurou tells him with no sympathy whatsoever. “Or perhaps he was.”

“I _figured that out_ , yes, thank you,” Daichi snaps back.

“Last _night_ ,” Tetsurou finishes with a horrific grin.

“I was embarrassed and took leave early. Nothing I’m sure the traitor Azumane hasn’t told you already!”

“If only you’d stuck around!”

“You’re forgetting your station,” Daichi hisses, “and you don’t need to make me the source of gossip any more than you already have, singing through the halls as you do. I won’t tell you again: drop the subject.”

“What if my subject and your subject overlap?”

Daichi peers out of his blankets up at his advisor. Suspiciously, but Tetsurou would never drag something out without reason.

“So, as _I_ was going over your treaty yesterday out of the goodness of my heart, something occurred to me that could very well explain many, _many_ things about the Generals’ behavior. Did you know historically, many treaties between different countries end in marriage?”

“How is this any sort of news?” Daichi grumbles. He’s had to deal with many suitors and arrangements already in the few years since he’d become the proper age for such considerations. (Even before then.) He’s the _only_ royal child, and Crown Prince, no less. Daichi has always known he’d be facing an arranged marriage at some point in his life.

Tetsurou gives him a wide-eyed, expectant look.

It clicks.

“What? They’re both men!” This doesn’t deter Daichi from thinking of _other_ things, but the fact of the matter is that he must produce a legitimate blood heir to the throne when he’s King. “There’s no other option for the country—we all know that I must wed someone who can give me a child. This is no secret.”

“Everyone knows this, but what if _that’s_ why Generals Sugawara and Oikawa were flirting so aggressively? It would be easier to talk you into a marriage if you already had positive feelings toward one of them. And notice how Oikawa has backed off since you and Sugawara have been getting so close…?”

It makes a disturbing amount of sense, and Daichi _hates_ it. They were _auditioning_ , to see who Daichi preferred. It wasn’t a seduction to steal secrets, or even to get Daichi into bed; they just wanted him to _like_ them. “There is no way my father would sanction this, even if I _were_ to argue for it. And why the hell should I? I couldn’t produce a legitimate blood heir,” he growls from within the safer confines of his bed. He _really_ wishes he could remain here forever now.

“It puts them in a better light, doesn’t it? The Lord-General wants lasting peace, and at the very least, this would last a generation or two.”

“There wouldn’t _be_ a generation!”

“I’m just telling you what I was told, no need to shoot the messenger,” Tetsurou primly replies.

Daichi, again, peers out suspiciously at him. “You said _you_ figured it out. Don’t tell me you invited Koutarou after all—”

“It wasn’t him! It was—that page I’ve been spending time with.”

Daichi emerges from his cocoon with eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. “You were letting an errand boy in on treaties between states, _without_ my knowledge or permission?”

“That isn’t _exactly_ right,” Tetsurou replies, looking pained, avoiding eye contact, “but he’s very clever, my lord! I promise you that your treaty is better for it. And he figured out the angle the Generals must be working!”

“I’ve had half the Royal Academy staff helping me with this, so it’s not a matter of anyone else. It’s the fact that you _didn’t tell me_ , Tetsurou. If you had been dallying with him all afternoon instead of working—”

“Then I would have just traded shifts with Asahi and done so,” Tetsurou crossly interrupts. “I _helped_ you, and so did he. You’re _welcome_!”

“And why didn’t you just ask me! Why do you trust his opinion so much that you would go behind my back to get it?” _That_ is what hurts Daichi the most. Trust is a heavy thing to think of as of late, but aside from their near-constant sass, Daichi has never _not_ trusted Tetsurou or Asahi before. This blow is unexpected, and stings all the more for it.

“I can’t tell you,” Tetsurou replies, eyes pleading but mouth a grim line.

“What secrets do _you_ have now?”

“They’re not _my_ secrets,” Tetsurou begins, and that’s enough for Daichi.

So Tetsurou is keen on this page—he doesn’t care about that. He does care about the apparently clever boy who unraveled potential motives for the two infuriatingly mysterious men who have been plaguing Daichi for nearly a month. Who knows what the boy did to Daichi’s treaty; he hasn’t even looked at the papers yet, and now fears what he may find.

“Wait, Daichi, don’t be upset about this,” Tetsurou tries as Daichi swings himself out of bed and begins pulling on day clothes. He’ll wash later, and he doesn’t care for proper attire when he’ll be going to servant quarters. “It’s not what you think!”

“What’s his name again?” Daichi says.

Tetsurou is silent, but falls into step behind him, wringing his hands.

“ _Kuroo_. His _name_.”

“Kenma,” Tetsurou quietly responds.

“Then I’ll want to find this Kenma, and speak with him myself—”

Tetsurou groans, just as they round the corner out of the side corridor leading into the main wing, and nearly run into the page himself. Kenma smoothly steps out of the way to avoid colliding with Daichi, though in his haste not to step on him, he stopped short and Tetsurou ran into his back.

“You called, my lord?” Kenma tonelessly asks, eyes askance of the two men untangling themselves.

He doesn’t bother with the convenient timing of it. “Did you _help_ Tetsurou with my treaty drafts yesterday without my knowledge?” Daichi snaps.

“Yes.”

“ _Why_?” Why wouldn’t he wait for his Prince’s permission? Daichi generally prefers not to push the power he wields, but he’s clinging to the last stability he has in his life. Not _everyone_ can become a threat to his station.

(Is he becoming paranoid? Daichi fears the prospect.)

Kenma somehow musters the gall to sigh at the Crown Prince. “Because it looked like you both needed the help. It was my idea, not Tetsurou’s, so please don’t be angry with him.”

“Why does a page think he can worm his way into working on official documents without permission?” Daichi sighs right back. It’s too early for this kind of headache.

“Because a prince thinks he’s too distracted to see the bigger picture, and is tragically lagging behind everyone else’s political maneuvering.”

“You can’t talk that way to the Prince!” Tetsurou hisses, dragging Kenma to the side. Kenma moves like a limp doll, braid flopping off of his shoulder, loose hair falling into his eyes.

“Have you looked at the drafts yet?” Kenma asks.

“…No,” Daichi reluctantly replies, and with that, Kenma leads them in the direction of the study. Tetsurou still wrings his hands all the while, glancing between Daichi and Kenma in a way that makes it seem as if he expects Daichi to try to execute Kenma on the spot. The page doesn’t seem as fazed.

Daichi is just so, _so_ tired of the secrecy. He hadn’t expected it from within his own men.

So the Generals may be angling for a marriage they can’t get, but it would imply a true commitment to lasting peace between their nations. It explains why Generals Oikawa and Sugawara were brought along; they are the two closest in age to Daichi, and by a wide margin at that. But _why_ they would wish to pursue marriage is beyond him. Everyone knows he’s the only child, and neither Koushi nor Tooru could give him a legitimate heir. He couldn’t accept the arrangement, even for the sake of the treaty. His father would never allow it.

_It would be demeaning for either of them to become some sort of courtesan_. From a General to little more than a royal prostitute? The Lord-General would never condone that, especially with her own youngest. At least as a Prince Consort they would maintain some stature. _Why bother?_

Kenma halts abruptly in the middle of the hallway. His posture has become rigid, shoulders a tense line, his small hands fisted at his side. “You should go look at the treaty drafts first.”

“And you can come explain your reasoning for it,” Daichi says, one eyebrow raised. He plans on questioning every single change, to see just how clever this boy is.

“I need to go,” Kenma says, his voice dropping into a whisper. He tries to back up a step, but with a nod from Daichi, Tetsurou catches him around the shoulders. “Your Highness, I’ll be along later, I-I need to—”

Daichi isn’t naive enough to think this is about the treaties. “What’s so urgent?”

“Your Highness, _please_. I ought to go.”

Tetsurou looks nervously between them again. Daichi doesn’t like this kind of behavior from either of them, confusing as it is, and it worsens his growing headache.

A very familiar laugh rings down the adjacent corridor. They’re passing by the kitchens in this direction, so it shouldn’t be much of a surprise to hear Koushi, but the sound sends the heat straight into Daichi’s cheeks. There is a long list of things he does not want to deal with today, and more and more of them seem to be happening in very close proximity.

The errand boy looks ready to bolt, and Daichi can’t blame him, as unbecoming as it’d seem. Too late, they’re spotted—Koushi is accompanied by the shorter and more expressive of the guards, and Tetsurou hurriedly steps between them and Kenma, shielding him from sight.

“Your Highness!” Koushi eagerly calls. “I’m glad to have found you so easily! I managed to make a cake for you!”

“An apology cake,” his guard snickers.

“It is—” Koushi catches himself at the last moment, red in the face, then grumpily amends, “It is. An apology. For my untoward behavior yesterday. It still needs to cool, but perhaps we could…”

He and his guard freeze in place as soon as they catch sight of Kenma, poorly hidden as he is.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” the guard hisses, under his breath, but the corridor is silent as the grave, so Daichi hears him clearly. He takes a shaky step back without permission.

Kenma pokes his head around Tetsurou’s side to fix him with a startlingly sharp glare.

“Dismissed, Hanamaki,” Koushi says, stunned, staring at Kenma as if he were another species.

And the Setarian guard takes off _running_.

“What the hell,” Daichi says. He’s beyond propriety now—he wants some goddamned answers. “There must be _some_ kind of joke going on, and I’d love to know the point of it all. I’m tired of the secrets and the strange looks!”

“You just broke regulation,” Kenma tells him. “Congratulations.” He turns back to Koushi with eyes of ice. “So did you, General. That man was magical.”

“He’s not a witch,” Koushi replies. He, too, backs up a step. “We broke no laws or agreements.”

“There’s the spirit of the law,” Tetsurou points out. He seems to have bounced back from whatever had disturbed him, and he stands to his full height as he advances on Koushi. Daichi does not stop him. “You brought personnel of magical ability into our lands, _against_ regulation.”

“And what of you?” Koushi shoots back, but he has lowered himself, shrinking before the guard. Every movement of his is poised to fight or flight.

“You don’t seem _surprised_ , General,” Tetsurou coldly states.

Koushi’s eyes flicker over to Kenma, and Daichi turns to Kenma with the same kind of sudden clarity.

“You’re a witch,” Daichi says. Somehow, his voice doesn’t shake, nor does the world upend itself completely.

Kenma turns and looks up at him with eyes as gold as Koutarou’s have ever been. “And you just put me in front of the General, Your Highness.”

“You knew he was a witch. You _knew_ there were more witches in court than our Royal Witch,” Tetsurou presses. He’s nearly upon Koushi, and still Koushi cowers like a cornered animal. “How did Setaria know when our own Prince did not?!”

“I didn’t know it was a secret,” Koushi feebly defends, but the magic catches in his cuffs, and he ends up on his hands and knees on the floor. “ _Yes_ , Setarian intelligence knew there were covert witches in the Amicoran court!” He back on his feet in a flash; Daichi had almost forgotten he could call it off himself if he revised the original lie.

And with that, Koushi turns and flees. Tetsurou makes a grab for him, but he fluidly dodges, and none of them give chase.

Daichi takes a long, grounding breath. It doesn’t help. “Why do our literal _enemies_ know more about the goings-on of _my_ court and staff than I do? Why did _you_ know?” He rounds on Tetsurou. He ducks his head, hands clasped behind him, but does not cow. “ _Everyone_ knows but me, is that it? Is that the new norm for how this country is run?!”

“Apparently,” Kenma flatly says.

“And _you_ —!”

“And me.”

“On whose orders were you placed as a _spy_ in your own court?!”

“His Majesty the King’s,” Kenma replies. “And now I expect I’ll probably get whipped, if not attempted execution, for an imagined betrayal of His Majesty’s intentions in favor of Your Highness’. Your politics are exhausting, but resurrecting is even more exhausting.”

“You’re not bloodbound, are you? Like Koutarou?” Daichi asks. He keeps the conversation moving if only to spare himself the pain of processing all of this.

“No. Honorbound, my prince.”

“To whom?”

Kenma’s expression does not change, but something about him makes Daichi think he asked the proper question. “To the ruling powers.”

_So he still must obey me_. It explains why he’s always so conveniently there, too, even if Daichi feels a fool for not noticing earlier. “You and Tetsurou are to stay in his quarters and have no contact with anyone outside of myself until further notice.”

“Daichi, you can’t confront your father about this when you’re upset,” Tetsurou replies. He tries to catch Daichi’s arm, but Daichi shrugs him off with a despicable scowl. “You’re going to worsen this!”

“My own _father_ has placed agents against me in the court, and because of it I’ve just broken our own summit rules. The Generals brought magic with them against those very same rules!” He doesn’t know which issue to tackle first. He has enough to accuse the Lord-General of breaking the spirit of the law, but Koushi could throw the same thing back in Daichi’s face. But his _father_ …

“At least find Asahi! He can help calm you down, talk you through how to handle this. I-I’ll talk to Kenma, and we can—”

“I gave you an _order_ , Kuroo!” Daichi roars and whirls on him, arm raised.

Tetsurou flinches, more out of surprise than anything else.

Daichi lowers his arm. He’s stunned with himself. Guilt edges in on the fury and betrayal and panic, and Daichi cannot deal with everything at once. But he will not take it out on his own men.

He turns on his heel and storms away. He feels sick.

 

—

 

“You know, Asahi has half a dozen trainees trying to find you,” Koutarou says as he ducks down into Daichi’s field of view. Or tries, very hard. Daichi pulls his knees up to his chest to hide his face.

He feels like a very small child, lost and confused and angry at the world, and having Koutarou here isn’t helping that feeling.

“Are you drunk?” the witch asks brightly.

“I can’t deal with any of this _sober_ , what makes you think I need to be drinking?”

“Most people stoop to that when they’re overwhelmed.” Without asking, Koutarou sits down beside Daichi. This corner of the library isn’t large, so their thighs end up pressing together, and Daichi is pushed a bit more against the shelf he’s convinced is the only thing keeping him upright.

Daichi knows the guard rotations, and he knows where the knights patrol the Academy. It hadn’t been difficult for him to slip in and hide for a moment. Daichi doesn’t like running away, but he needs some space to sort everything out.

“How do you handle knowing everything all the time?” Daichi asks with his face pressed to his forearms.

“It’s something you get used to,” Koutarou thoughtfully replies with a too-steep cock of his head. He stares up at the dust drifting through the beams of afternoon light coming in through the high windows. Daichi knows Asahi will try his damnedest to keep things under control, but if news of _something_ hasn’t reached his father yet, he would be very surprised.

“Why do our enemies know more about my home than I do? Why didn’t Tetsurou tell me about the other witch?” He doesn’t bother asking if Koutarou knew.

“I can answer the second!” he says with palpable excitement. Koutarou flops his weight against Daichi’s shoulder, earning a strained _oof_ , and Daichi feels the witch’s grin against his bicep. “It’s magic. Tetsurou couldn’t have told you even if he wanted, but who knows what that man wants, anyway. It’s a good thing you’re so forgetful, because it’s all about the name.”

“You come when I call, but I thought that’s because you serve royal blood.”

“It’s a little less intense for honorbound witches, but the itching is still awful. Kenma got lucky because you always just called him ‘errand boy’ and mostly ignored him. His luck ran out when Tetsurou got keen on him!” Koutarou laughs, then rubs his cheek against Daichi’s arm like an over-affectionate cat. “C’mon, Highness, you’re no fun when you’re pathetic. You already _knew_ you were lagging behind everyone else’s conspiracies, so this is nothing new!”

“What else is hidden right under my nose?” Daichi groans. He ignores Koutarou as best he can, though the witch makes it _very_ difficult. “My father doesn’t trust me to command soldiers, nor does he trust me to know about magic in my _home_. What else does he have that I’m unaware of?”

“I serve him, too, y’know,” Koutarou softly replies. “I’m not supposed to play favorites. But I also don’t like seeing you so down, Daichi, and it’s boring to watch a fixed race.”

Daichi burrows himself deeper. This is humiliating, even if Koutarou means nothing by it. He wonders if anyone actually wants to end this goddamned bloodshed, or if this is just some reprieve from it all for the higher officers to laugh about later.

He supposes that’s being a little melodramatic about it all.

“How about I tell you… hmm. Three secrets! Even out the playing field a bit, and maybe inspire you to be done with the moping and back to the determined Prince I so care for.” Koutarou nudges him again, and Daichi raises his head to show enough interest to get him to stop jostling him so much. “C’mooooon! Do you know how many would literally kill for a witch to be throwing himself at them?!”

“You’re just putting all your weight on me like a big dog,” Daichi flatly responds.

Koutarou forces Daichi’s arms down, then tries to pull his legs down, too, aiming to crawl into his lap. Daichi squirms and fights him, trying damn hard not to crack a grin, but the very image of the witch straddling him is too much for him to handle. At least it would be a more normal scandal. Koutarou concedes as soon as he catches Daichi’s smile. “There we go!” Koutarou says with an obnoxiously loud laugh.

“You’ve never grown up, have you?”

“We can’t both be doom and gloom at the same time! I think the palace would fall to ruin.”

“Or Asahi would fret himself to an early grave,” Daichi allows. “Which I assume he’s doing now. Come, give me your secrets, so I may return and soothe whatever’s gone wrong _next_.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s still plenty of potential for things to go wrong!” Koutarou happily tells him. “The Lord-General could find out about this before your father, your father could find Tetsurou holed up with Kenma, your father could find Asahi having _lost_ you—”

“Please stop,” Daichi pleads and shoves a hand over Koutarou’s mouth.

Koutarou nips at his palm with too-sharp teeth, eyes bright and mirthful but full of warning, and Daichi reluctantly pulls his hand back. “Only two secrets for you now, because I can feel one of the Generals coming this way.”

“They shouldn’t be in the Royal Academy without an escort,” Daichi groans. He obviously can’t be escorting them, so that means he has a rogue General or his father is accompanying them.

“Well, your first secret is that they’ve all been _all_ over, definitely without escorts. Especially the one you’re so enamored with.”

“I’m not _enamored_!”

“In fact, he spends most nights prowling around the palace and even out on the grounds, against regulations. Which you _should_ know, but lately, I think he’s less looking for secrets and more looking for _you_. Trying to fabricate another innocent late night run-in,” Koutarou finishes with a lecherous leer.

“It’s not like that,” Daichi protests. Today has acted as a slap in the face; he’s been forcibly reminded that Koushi is not some friend to him, but an _enemy General_. A foreign power, one who has intelligence against him (more than him), and whose main interest potentially lies in trying to woo Daichi into giving up the future of the royal line.  

“You don’t have to try so hard to convince _me_ ,” Koutarou innocently replies with a big hand pressed to his chest like some scandalized maiden. “I’m bloodbound to believe the best of you, or something like that. I definitely have your interest at heart. Even if my unofficial interest may be helping you have a bit of stress relief—”

“Stop this,” Daichi begs. Koutarou sulks. Audibly. “One more secret? Please?” In turn, Daichi tries his best to appear earnest enough to appeal to Koutarou’s sense of pity, which has been unusually strong today. (Daichi fears that that may be a marker of what awaits him when he returns to his duties.)

“Fiiiine. Now, I can’t name any names because of magic, but Kenma ‘n me aren’t the only witches the King keeps close.”

Daichi groans. Of course. He’s going to suspect the entire court at this rate, and who knows what will end up spilling from his mouth the next time he sees his father.

“Also, this ain’t a secret exactly,” Koutarou adds, and sidles in close yet again to lower his voice conspiratorially. Daichi inclines his head toward him when he lowers his voice further to a hushed whisper. “There are ways to tell witches from humans, if you know how to _look_ at them.”

“Are you telling me to start tying rocks to people and seeing if they float?”

“ _No_!” Koutarou exclaims, affronted enough that Daichi scrambles to put as much space (not much) between them. “I’m not helping you anymore. You can figure it out on your own!”

Saving Daichi from being semi-trapped in a confined space with an irate witch, Koutarou vanishes, just moments before he hears footsteps approaching his alcove. He hastily adjusts his wrinkled clothing and crooked coronet, but doesn’t have the time to stand before someone shyly peers around the corner.

Hair as pale as starlight, loose and curled, tumbles over her shoulder as Alisa leans into his view. She’s as pretty as ever, blinking wide, mismatched eyes, but doesn’t seem surprised at all to find him there. She does, however, look nervous, more nervous than Daichi is used to seeing her.

She says a word he does not recognize, then steps aside to allow General Sugawara into the alcove. Koushi will not meet his eye, staring down at his polished boots like he is preparing for the gallows, but Alisa looks between them with unabashed curiosity.

Daichi takes a deep, steeling breath. Time to return to reality.

 

—

 

Daichi has his own advisor and a covert witch locked in the guard quarters. He has a General sequestered in one of the studies. Another witch is annoyed with him, and there’s the prospect of a _third_ , unknown to him. There are magic users among the Setarian guard, and they know more than Daichi about the internal workings of his court. A foreign student on scholarship to the Royal Academy has been sneaking an enemy General in and out of the Academy. He has a very good guess as to what the Lord-General wants from him in regard to the endgame of the treaty, and it involves snuffing out the future of his bloodline.

To Daichi’s knowledge, his father does not know _any_ of this has transpired today.

When he allows Asahi to find him and the man is done fretting over him like a panicked nursemaid, Daichi takes him to the nearest unoccupied room and bars anyone else from entering. There is still concern written clear across Asahi’s face, but he becomes serious, and he already knows the gravity of what Daichi is about to do.

_What do you need of me_ , Asahi’s expression says.

“We’re going to come out of this ahead,” Daichi begins, gripping Asahi’s arm tight, to ground himself. Asahi nods and puts his hand over Daichi’s. “But there is much to do very delicately. I need you to listen to me, and only to me.”

“Always, my prince,” Asahi murmurs and tightens his grasp.

“From this point forward, we do not tell my father _anything_. You are loyal to _me_ , and me alone, Asahi. Am I clear?”

“Always, my prince,” he repeats without the slightest hesitance.

Daichi relaxes into a shaky, but sincere, smile. Asahi’s loyalty has never wavered, but with Tetsurou’s inadvertent trouble, Daichi’s heart has been shaken from even his surest beliefs. Daichi may not be as familiar with warfare as the other players in this game, but he knows it’s time to shore up and begin a counterattack. He already knows where to begin. “We’re going to interrogate a General now. Brace yourself accordingly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi hardens his heart and does what must be done.


	9. peacemaking and democratic state-building require blood and magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And then what?” Koushi asks.
> 
> “And then I play from a new hand of cards, and we both bide our time until a treaty draft is finalized. Which had _better_ damn well happen faster now that I know what the Lord-General is up to.”

Koushi has behaved himself, suspiciously so. It must be what a surrender is like, and Daichi wonders how often the man has dealt with that. Surely not often.

Daichi paces in front of him; the General is on his knees, hands spread on his thighs, eyes downcast. He has followed every one of Daichi’s orders thus far, and returned to Daichi voluntarily. That speaks enough. The very fact that he found Daichi before Asahi spoke even more.

“You will answer with yes or no,” Daichi casually declares. Koushi nods without flinching. “Were you ordered to return to me?”

“Yes.”

“Does the Lord-General know what happened today?” After another affirmative, Daichi adds, “Does General Oikawa?”

“I didn’t tell him, if he does,” Koushi replies.

Daichi stares him down, but as he is avoiding eye contact, it doesn’t have the desired effect. Asahi stands motionless by the door, at attention, facing straight ahead. It has occurred to Daichi already that Koushi is the better fighter between them, but Asahi is armed, and larger than Koushi.

“Will the Lord-General tell the King?”

“No.”

It confirms Daichi’s suspicion: they plan to play Daichi off of his father. They’ve picked their side.

_Very well,_ Daichi thinks, grimly. _I’ll play by these rules_. He can just as easily use this against them. “Did you know the witch by sight or name?”

“I received reports. Hanamaki confirmed it for me.”

“Your guard isn’t assigned to you right now?”

“No.”

Daichi tilts his head, and considers the presented image of the submissive General. “Your guard belongs to General Oikawa—both of them. Are they _both_ magical?”

Koushi’s head bows a little further, and it’s through gritted teeth that he admits, “Yes. They share a telepathic bond. Tooru and I have been using it to stay abreast of everything, and communicate. But they are originally his men.”

“You’ve been sent back to me today in an effort to curry favor, if not trust.”

“Yes.”

“Your goal is for me to trust you.”

“Yes.”

“One of the treaties’ goals is an eventual marriage,” Daichi says. His calm masks the concern within. Koushi stays silent, so Daichi continues, prompting. “You and General Oikawa were doing little more than audition for my favor. You were testing to see who I’d respond to.”

“…Yes,” Koushi finally confesses. “I would also like to state here that I genuinely like you, Highness. You’re a good man.”

“And you’re being auctioned off,” Daichi returns.

“That’s nothing I’m unused to.” The bitterness in Koushi’s voice catches him momentarily off guard. The General risks raising his head, and he meets Daichi’s eye without fear. “The Lord-General knew it would be a hard sell to convince the Crown Prince to give up the prospect of a legitimate heir, but the goal was still to try to entice you into one of us as a marriage prospect to cement the treaty. It was not a seduction, but as you said… an audition.”

Daichi is the first to look away. He glances back toward Asahi, and his guard arches an eyebrow, the smallest fraction. _What now?_

“What are your personal feelings on the matter?” Daichi asks.

“I don’t have any,” Koushi replies, like a reflex, and his shoulders jerk forward as his wrists are pinned to the floor.

When Daichi kneels to release the magic, Koushi’s face is reddened, screwed up in annoyance and shame.

“Trust me or don’t, that is up to you,” Koushi says hotly, teeth bared like a cornered dog, “but the fact is that the Lord-General is going to push for this marriage out of spite for His Majesty. If you want peace, you’re going to have to address it, one way or another. I’m doing my job.”

“Job, not duty?”

Koushi frowns and turns from him. Daichi stands once more. He’s gotten most of what he wanted: the Lord-General will keep quiet, and confirmation of the younger Generals’ motives. He’s not sure how much Koushi will cooperate, considering his darkened mood.

“Do you know of any other witches in the Amicoran court?” Daichi asks.

“No.”

“Would you answer me if I were to ask for further Setarian intelligence?”

“There is much I cannot answer you, because your country is not the only one with a witch and speech magics. But if you were amenable to certain concessions—”

“Were you sent here to _barter_ with me?” Daichi demands, exasperated. “Are we only now getting into proper negotiations? I want to laugh, but it’d be too humiliating.”

“I only know what I’ve been told,” Koushi stiffly replies.

“Then by all means, General.”

“We have information, and power, and we will make a treaty with you. But the Lord-General will not make peace with the King.”

“He wears the crown,” Daichi points out and folds his arms, tight, across his chest. “He has the power to sign the treaty. My signature is a formality.”

“Then it sounds as if you need more power, Your Highness,” Koushi tells him with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

 

—

 

Tetsurou jumps when the door bangs open; Kenma does not.

Neither does Koutarou.

Daichi sighs through his nose and massages his temples. His headache is unrelenting and cruel. “You were supposed to _not_ have contact with anyone else.”

“I’m sorry, you locked me in here with a witch, and then _another_ witch showed up. What, _exactly_ , did you want me to do?” comes Tetsurou’s rightfully scathing response. “Do tell, Daichi. I’m dying to know.”

“I’ll apologize only on the grounds that you do _not_ get snippy with me. I’m not in the mood for any further shit today.”

Tetsurou holds his head high, but wisely holds his tongue. For once.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper concerning you both,” Daichi announces.

Koutarou stares _hard_ at him, eyes narrowed to golden slits, mouth pursed to the point of comedy.

“Koutarou, I’m also sorry for my frustrations earlier,” Daichi indulgently adds.

“I _suppose_ I’ll forgive you, but only because you became a lot more entertaining. You never have the gall to lock _me_ anywhere. Is it ‘cause Kenma is smaller?”

The flat look Kenma sends him makes Daichi consider his answer very, _very_ carefully. “No. I apologize, but I’m struggling to reconcile the page with the witch, and we all know I don’t think the clearest when I’m mad.”

“That’s for sure,” Tetsurou scoffs.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not _still mad_ ,” Daichi replies. Tetsurou scowls back at him, and they very nearly get into a glaring match, until Asahi intervenes by placing himself bodily between them. He guides Daichi to one of the empty beds, and pushes at his shoulders until he sits down on the edge. They’ll have to come up with some reason that Daichi ordered the quarters off-limits for the day, too, at some point.

“It’s not really his fault,” Kenma volunteers, though with the strain in his voice, it sounds as if the admittance nearly pains him. “No one can directly tell anyone else I’m a witch. It was also obviously in his best interest to keep it to himself.”

Daichi doesn’t like the use of the ‘obviously’, but he _is_ slowly coming to terms with the fact that this small page with the braid is a witch, and thus not one to berate lightly. “Why is that.”

“I fixed your treaty for you and told you what the Setarian Generals want from you. It’s more than Koutarou did.”

“Hey! I’m a _neutral party_ , remember?!”

“I’m not,” Kenma replies with a little shrug. “And I’m facing punishment if His Majesty finds out about this.”

“ _If_?” Koutarou repeats.

“So the Prince has a vested interest in keeping this secret, since he gains a witch more loyal to him than his father.”

“That sounds like blackmail,” Tetsurou uneasily says. He glances at Daichi, meets his eye, then turns away with another huff. But the concern in his voice is noticeable when he adds, “He may be dense and temperamental, but Daichi is a good man, and not a suicidal one.”

“I’m merely extrapolating for him,” Kenma replies. “Isn’t that what _your_ job is supposed to be?”

“You’re willingly getting blackmailed,” Asahi interjects across Tetsurou’s irritated snort. “That… doesn’t sound very much like blackmail. Why are you really doing this?”

Kenma sighs like he’s indulging a child. He looks quite young, but Daichi wonders just how old he truly is. “It’s too troublesome to lie, but the truth is embarrassing, and nothing the King would appreciate finding out.”

That catches even Koutarou’s attention. They’re all leaning forward, unconsciously, like this is the climax of some great story.

“He asked,” Kenma says with a dismissive little wave in Tetsurou’s direction.

How anticlimactic.

“When everyone believed me to be just another errand boy, they treated me like just another human. It was very rude and demeaning. But he _asked_ for my help, every time, and instead of asking for help with tasks, eventually he just asked me to help you, Your Highness. So I did.”

Daichi is suddenly embarrassed for the brusque way he’s treated not only Kenma, but other staff in the past. Tetsurou, for his part, has gone scarlet up to the roots of his black hair, and it’s a very unattractive look. But Kenma must find something endearing about it, because Daichi detects the smallest twitch to his mouth, something that suggests a smile.

“Well… thanks, I guess,” Tetsurou mumbles as he struggles to rub the heat from his cheeks. (In vain.) Koutarou laughs and he pokes at him, until Tetsurou swats at him in his shame. Koutarou pushes him off the bed without remorse.

“Please,” Daichi says, and Koutarou sits back with a moody huff. “I’d like to discuss how to move forward from here. If Kenma is going to be a willing participant, then this makes it a lot easier.”

“As willing as he does anything,” Koutarou mutters. Kenma only shrugs in his own defense.

“The Lord-General is going to keep quiet about today because she wants to curry favor with me.”

“Also, she hates your father,” Tetsurou and Koutarou say together.

“Yes, thank you. As if I had forgotten such a key detail of the past few weeks. They aren’t here for much longer, but while they are here, we must take advantage of the delicate state. I need everyone in this room to swear their loyalty to me before I outline my plan.”

“Asahi and I have done that before, and those two are literally bound to you, Daichi,” Tetsurou points out.

“I’ve been lied to enough today, Tetsurou. Remind me where your loyalties lay.”

It’s an embarrassment for two grown men to sneer at each other in such a way while one is pledging fealty to another for a second time, but yet, here they are. It is far down on the list of strange things to happen that day.

 

—

 

“Is this to be my gilded cage?” Koushi asks disinterestedly, drawing patterns around one of the ornate bedposts. “It feels sadistic to offer this to a man awaiting punishment.”

“Punishment?” Daichi asks and pauses in looking over the room himself. These chambers are his during the summer months, as they are a little cooler, but are unused right now. The bedding is a little musty and there’s nothing stocked in the fireplace, and it could likely use some sprucing up in the general sense, too. Daichi hadn’t thought he’d be confining a General here when he woke that morning.

“You’re well within your rights,” Koushi points out in that same dull tone. It’s so unlike what Daichi is used to hearing from him. He vastly prefers the bright, lilting curve of his vowels and the spark back in his eyes.

Even if he is a truth-telling liar.

_Not a liar_ , Daichi mentally amends, sighing to himself. It’s not _really_ his fault. “I don’t want you having contact with any of your envoy until I sort out a few more things. Of course, you could refuse, as this is incredibly improper, but that would create a lot of trouble neither of us want, wouldn’t it?”

“And then what?” Koushi asks.

“And then I play from a new hand of cards, and we both bide our time until a treaty draft is finalized. Which had _better_ damn well happen faster now that I know what the Lord-General is up to.”

Koushi sighs, but within it there’s an undercurrent of fondness rather than despair. “Oh, you have so little idea of what that woman is up to. Interrogate me all you like, but I couldn’t spill my guts to you if I wanted to, unless in a literal sense.”

That’s worrisome, but Daichi forces the issue from his mind; more fretting over the future would do him little help right now. Now, he must focus on three things: securing Kenma, making the Lord-General believe he is now set against his father, and making his father believe he’s furious with all of the political maneuvering from the Lord-General. If Setaria wants to play him against his father, well, he’ll let them think that. It’s so much easier to allow them to think the worst of each other, and use it to his _own_ advantage.

“I’m content, for the time being. For now, let the Lord-General believe I’m either too upset to deal with this, or I’ve inherited a cruel streak from the King,” Daichi replies absently. He’s going to have to get a maid or someone in here to tidy up, but staff gossip is the _last_ thing he needs.

He’s going to need more people he can trust. Generally, people will remain quiet if he personally requests it of them—suspicious stains, late-night jaunts outside, compromising visitors to his bedchambers—but he can’t depend on such discretion when it comes to graver matters. He’ll have to discuss personnel with Asahi and Tetsurou, perhaps Kenma. Daichi still isn’t sure what to do with a witch in any sense; he’s so used to Koutarou’s capricious and skewed sense of neutrality.

His thoughts are interrupted by Koushi pulling the topmost two layers off the bed and shaking the top one out. The other remains in a crumpled heap by his feet. He shakes out the second while Daichi gapes.

Without a word, Koushi then remakes the bed himself, tucking everything perfectly, smoothing out the cover to a crisp, neat line.

Generals weren’t born to their station, Daichi reminds himself, but he would be hard-pressed to think of even lesser nobility who could perform chores with such quick efficiency. “What were you, before you joined the military?” Daichi asks.

Koushi glances up at him. His disposition remains uncharacteristically cool, but he answers, “My mother was a laundress with dreams of becoming a seamstress. I helped her when she would attend to customers. There’s coin in it if you know how to make even common folk feel like royalty.”

“That was still in Canuste?”

“Yes.”

Daichi cocks his head. “I’ve never been. One day, when we’re perhaps better friends, would you tell me about it?”

Koushi’s impassive mask finally breaks in favor of surprise. “I… Yes, I suppose I could. One day.”

 

—

 

“How long have you enjoyed my puzzling over the Generals?” Daichi asks over a shared lunch.

His father’s mouth crooks up in a poor smirk. “You likely feel it’s a cruelty, but it’s a kindness, I assure you. You’d only have been humiliated if I tried to guide you like a lost child, and I believe you have the mettle to have stood your ground even in spite of your confusion.”

Daichi bites a little too hard onto the tines of his fork, and he jumps at the sting. He resumes grinding his teeth sans cutlery in his mouth. “You don’t think much of this summit, do you.”

“It will serve its purpose,” the King vaguely replies.

“I’d like to appoint new personnel to help me with treaty drafting and navigating myself around the Lord-General,” Daichi says to steer the conversation away from his frustrations, and his father raises an eyebrow—an indulgent sort of curiosity. The most Daichi has ever received from the man. “I regret running from tutors so often when I was younger. I feel like they’re talking me in circles and I’m only getting dizzied from it.”

“Nanashi is a snake of a woman, but she’s a talented politician. I didn’t warn you about her myself because I wanted to see if you could handle yourself.”

“I can and will, but I want just one or two more people helping me with the summit. There is a woman in the Academy, I’d like her help, but she’s studying here on scholarship.”

“The Haiba girl,” his father says, and Daichi nods. “You want more foreigners whispering in your ear? Don’t think I haven’t heard how you and General Sugawara have been getting on.”

“They’re hoping to endear me to him for the treaty to be signed with a marriage,” Daichi frankly replies.

His father, again, almost smiles. “That seems likeliest. And poor decision-making on Nanashi’s part, but well, what can you ever truly say of such a woman. Play along if you think it will earn their trust. They’re _your_ peace talks.” The King waves his fork to punctuate his utter disregard for responsibility on the matter.

Daichi feels his eye twitch. “Alisa is a knowledgeable historian, and I’m sure she’d welcome the chance to help negotiate the terms of a treaty between our countries. She can be a neutral party.”

“If you can get her to agree, then yes, you may pull her from the Academy. She may have to write to her family, but I trust you to respect their input.”

“Of course, Father,” Daichi replies at once. The easy part is over. “I would also like an advisor for both treaty writing and help in how to deal with these people.” He’s careful to maintain distance between himself and the Setarian envoy, but it’s not as if his father has ever much paid attention to Daichi’s words unless he’s shouting them.

“Learning to watch your tongue _would_ be a useful skill.”

“By chance, I found a particularly clever page, and I’d like to assign him to be my personal advisor for the foreseeable future.”

Daichi’s father freezes in place, his fork halfway to his open mouth.

Daichi pretends not to notice. “Tetsurou and Asahi will still continue to fulfill their joint roles, but a fresh eye is what I believe I need on this project.”

“So you…” The King coughs, but it does not turn into a fit. “So you picked some random servant and decided to elevate him? You can’t keep picking up strays, Daichi.”

“Tetsurou worked out well. The boy’s name is Kenma, and I just wanted to let you know that he’s one of my men now. Please respect my authority as I see this through to the end,” Daichi says with a respectful bow of his head, before he calmly resumes eating.

He’s missed Amicoran food. The cook still knows how to best prepare duck.

His father would rather risk breaking the regulations than tell his own son the truth, Daichi notes, but he isn’t surprised. Who knows how long this has been going on, and who knows what else his father has been keeping from him.

 

—

 

“Alisa is the firstborn of the Haiba family of Canuste,” Asahi hisses in his ear as Daichi strides up to the woman seated at one of the common tables in the largest library. The tiny blonde next to her looks familiar, too. “She’s been studying here for almost four years. She’s an expert in world history and royal lineages of those nations that still _have_ royalty.”

Kenma trails behind them, looking utterly bored with all of the books surrounding them. That alone makes him stick out, but he doesn’t wear his new uniform particularly well, either, and his obvious discomfort makes him all the more noticeable. He had thus far asked three times if he could be dismissed.

“Lady Alisa?” Daichi asks as soon as he’s near.

Alisa hardly spares him a glance, but her small friend starts up her nervous quaking. “My mother is the Lady, I am just here on academic scholarship. How may I be of service, Your Highness?”

“I would ask for your aid in the peace talks with Setaria. I’m requesting your company in one of my studies to go over the drafts I have composed for the treaty between our countries.”

Alisa frowns, more in confusion than disapproval. “You’d like _my_ help, Your Highness?”

“Yes, if you’d allow it.”

“Um… Yes, of course. Just give me a moment to gather my things.” Alisa places an apologetic hand over her friend’s, then scoops an impossible amount of books and paperwork into her arms. More shocking is how she manages to carry it all so effortlessly.

“Ah, uh, please let me help!” Asahi rushes forward to try to catch falling books, but nothing escapes her grasp.

Though she happily loads his arms full. “Thank you! Now if you’d please just stay here for a moment.”

“She has _more_?” Daichi mutters as the woman rushes off.

“Um, Alisa brought a sizeable collection of her own books when she came here,” the girl at the table pipes up. She quails again as soon as Daichi turns to her. “S-Sorry for speaking out of turn, Y-Your Highness! It’s just, um, she is very protective of her personal library, so…”

“So she intends to bring them all _with_ us?” Kenma deadpans, nose wrinkled in distaste.

“This isn’t necessary,” Daichi says and sighs. Though he massages his temples as he waits, wait he does, and soon Alisa comes back with an even more precarious tower of books in her arms.

Mercifully, she does not foist more upon his guard, but instead places most of the pile in front of her friend. “These are the ones on animals I have, you can use them at your leisure.”

“I’m not taking you away from the Academy, never to return,” Daichi points out. “I’m not sure this will take much more than an afternoon…”

“Nonsense! General Sugawara has told me of your struggles, and I would like to help in exchange for your continued hospitality, Your Highness,” Alisa firmly declares, and somehow _she_ ends up the one leading them back out of the Academy.

It figures that he’s been getting too far ahead of himself. Daichi allows her to stride purposefully in front of him, loose skirt billowing around her long legs, head held just as high as any noble he’s ever met. At one point, the King had considered her briefly as a marriage prospect for him, but ultimately cast the idea aside, since Canuste would offer no value in closer ties.

Daichi wonders if that ever reached her ears.

She’s clever and beautiful, and would likely make a fine Queen. But, unbidden, Daichi thinks of his other guest with the hair like quicksilver, and he despises the thought as soon as it occurs to him. That marriage offers even less to his father.

Except, perhaps, peace for a too-long war.

As soon as Alisa figures out she has no idea where they’re going, she hangs back with a sheepish little titter, and Kenma leads them with dragging footsteps and a dour twist to his mouth. Asahi struggles with his arms full, and Daichi sympathetically takes as many as he can handle without risking spilling the lot of them. Honestly, the books wouldn’t be needed, though he appreciates her foresight.

When they finally return to what has now been functioning as Daichi’s new study, he finds the two he’d left fighting.

Not the bickering and snarking Tetsurou has been desperately trying to drag Koushi into, but literally fighting, indoors, with the bed and desk shoved to the side to try to make enough room. (It didn’t work.) Tetsurou has shed his shirt and weapons, and Koushi, utterly unsurprising, has removed his vest and shoes but nothing else.

Daichi walks through the door just in time to see Koushi slam Tetsurou to the carpet and pin him with a knee digging viciously into his spine.

“What the hell is going on here?! We only _just_ left you alone!” Asahi barks, and both men on the ground freeze. “You can’t spar _indoors_ , much less in royal bedchambers! Both of you, up, off the floor.”

“Stress relief,” Tetsurou mutters.

Koushi opens his mouth, though for agreement or retort Daichi doesn’t find out, because as soon as he catches sight of Alisa, he balks. Alisa, likewise, doesn’t seem pleased with his presence, and glances hesitantly between General and Prince. “Your Highness, why is he…?”

“I’m going to get answers from the two of you,” Daichi says and guides her inside. Kenma shuts the door, and Asahi drops his books down on the desk so he can drag Tetsurou away from Koushi. “Such as why you were allowing and _guiding_ the General around the Royal Academy despite the rules.”

“I didn’t know! He was only asking about the history of your country, so I thought he was trying to educate himself for your talks.”

There aren’t enough chairs in the room, so Alisa and Kenma end up seated properly, and Daichi and Tetsurou sit on the bed. Koushi remains on the floor, and Asahi stations himself, standing, by the door. Kenma picks at his nails while everyone else seem shades of uneasy. “General,” Daichi says, and Koushi raises his head with a petulant pout. “Did you know Alisa before you came here?”

“No. We met by chance, and I used her homesickness against her. She has no part of this.”

Alisa turns to him, though Daichi isn’t certain whether her expression is one of hurt or bemusement. She holds her tongue.

“What did you ask her to show you in the Academy?”

“I was looking for charts on the Amicoran royal lineage.”

“…And Amicoran law,” Alisa adds. Koushi doesn’t look particularly chagrined by the omittance, but Daichi finds himself grinding his teeth. “It was nothing dangerous, Your Highness. I accompanied him the entire time. He only wanted to read up on old, obscure laws.”

“In the interest of earning back some trust, I’d like to point out that I snuck in at night on my own, without her knowledge. It’s not her fault,” Koushi says, and now Daichi’s jaw aches from the strain. “But she’s right. I was only looking up law textbooks and historical encyclopedias. And then I would stumble upon you in the gardens, and I defaulted more toward those than illicit trips to libraries.”

Koutarou owes him a new secret. (His second one lingers at the back of his mind.) “So you found me more worthwhile than books?” Daichi flatly asks.

“Well, yes. You’re more worthwhile, interesting, endearing, and handsome than books,” Koushi replies with a firm nod.

Tetsurou snorts, teetering on the edge of his ugly laughter, and Daichi smothers the noise with both hands as he shoves his stupid traitorous guard down on the bed. Alisa lets out a startled squeak at the display, yet Asahi only sighs from the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi uses his time with the confined General to his advantage. …He hopes it's to his advantage.


	10. young blood, old souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What a steep political learning curve you have, Your Highness,” the Lord-General drawls and twirls her parasol once more. How she is not sweating through all of the layers of her black uniform, Daichi doesn’t understand. He thinks he still fears her.
> 
> But less so.

“So, I must ask, when am I going to get my General back?” Lord-General Oikawa asks. She twirls the parasol in her hand, the only marker that she has noticed she’s outside in beautiful weather, in beautiful gardens. Her stately dress has not changed, nor the severe expression she wears as a default. “We are due to depart by the end of the week, and there are travel preparations to be made. I’m content to let you punish this breach of trust as you see fit, but if you permanently harm one of the council, I’m afraid there will have to be political repercussions.”

“You will get General Sugawara back by the time of the farewell ball,” Daichi smoothly replies. It will be the last point in which all three Generals will be expected to be present together, so Daichi can only keep him as long as that.

Really, it’s the Lord-General’s fault for not agreeing to more public functions. No one will notice if they’re sans one General now.

“Why did you turn General Sugawara back over to me? You didn’t even pretend to cover for him. I have the feeling that if I were to ask, you would even go so far as to pin the blame for the guards on him as well.”

“What a steep political learning curve you have, Your Highness,” the Lord-General drawls and twirls her parasol once more. How she is not sweating through all of the layers of her black uniform, Daichi doesn’t understand. He thinks he still fears her.

But less so.

“I gave him over to your judgment just as your father the King threw you to my mercy,” she continues. “As they say, everything is fair in wartime. Perhaps this means I trust your mercy.”

“Or my discretion when it comes to my father,” Daichi grunts, and the woman smiles thinly.

“You are correct in assuming I would protect my son from any accusations. If you were to publicly accuse Sugawara of anything, then I would step in on his behalf, too. But you have a softer touch than your father, and I’m not particularly worried.”

So yes, she still underestimates him. It may be true in this case, and it may work in his favor, but it still rankles him.

“I should also daresay he would hold up better than Tooru to interrogation, even ignoring the magic you must have discovered holding his tongue on certain matters. If taking out your frustrations on him helps ease your mind for a mutually agreeable treaty, then by all means, Your Highness,” she casually adds. “As you said, just return him in one piece, please. We have an image to uphold.”

For the first time, Daichi is as disgusted with this woman as his father has been all along.

 

—

 

“She doesn’t much care for you personally, does she?” Daichi asks, fed up with attempting to read. The Lord-General’s dismissal of Koushi’s well being still bothers him; he doesn’t know why else he would sit in Koushi’s chambers and pretend to spend time with him.

“That’s no surprise,” Koushi hums in response.

“She has defended you to Father.” Then again, Daichi believes the woman would defend a cockroach to his father.

“I’m a useful tool. I’m technically a standing member of the council. She wanted this for me, but she didn’t want _me_ for this,” Koushi vaguely replies and turns another page in his own book. He’s seated at the desk, back to Daichi, shoulders hunched and chin in hand.

“Speak straight, General.”

“I’m being honest with you, but there are still topics I cannot speak of. I’ve told you this.”

Daichi is about ready to start a guessing game over all of this mystery. He closes his own book, then stands. Koushi turns to regard him over his shoulder, expression still shuttered and dull. Daichi doesn’t know what he wants to do, other than find some outlet for the rage simmering in his blood; the disrespect and conniving of the King and the Lord-General have yet to leave his thoughts.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Daichi blurts out.

“To what end?” Koushi returns coolly, but there’s a little more brightness in his eyes at the prospect. “I do love those gardens, but I could easily throw you into the pond and make a daring escape back to my own entourage.”

“You could do that here, at least throw me down and make a run for it,” Daichi points out. “They’re nearer.”

To that, Koushi does not respond.

“I don’t mean to coop you up inside, so let’s get some fresh air. It should do us both some good and clear our heads.” Now, that the idea of a walk together has sprouted, Daichi has an idea of what to do. He won’t ruin the surprise, but he looks forward to Koushi’s reaction.

Koushi indulgently leaves the desk and pulls on more proper clothing. Not that he had been indecent, but confined to the room, he has certainly wasted no time in making himself comfortable. He pulls on a long-sleeved shirt with a high collar, then the deep blue vest of his uniform as well. Daichi doesn’t realize he’s actually pulling on one of his formal uniforms until he’s shrugging on the coat as well.

He can’t help but feel that it seems _pointed_.

Koushi maintains a respectable distance between them as they head through the halls of the largely empty wing. It’s about time for a late lunch, and they find more people nearer the kitchens. Students, staff, and even the two magical Setarian guards—Daichi almost balks, not wishing to deal with them or Tooru, but he doesn’t think Koushi has eaten yet today, and he has a plan in store.

“Stay here,” Daichi says, and Koushi stays put outside in the hall, despite the wary looks the Academy students shoot him and the stone-faced silence of the guard pair.

Predictably, Tooru is kicking up a fuss in the kitchen. His sleeves are tied off above his elbows, his hair is a disheveled mess, and his jewelry has been taken off and set onto one of the counters near the door. For once, he’s not covered in flour; instead, the man is splattered with some kind of reddish brown sauce. The kitchen smells distinctly burnt.

“Oh, Prince Daichi!” A handful of brave cooks have stayed in this time around, though whether they’re used to the General’s presence by now or if they’re struggling to prepare something, he doesn’t know. He does, however, recognize his favorite cook among them. She’s the one who approaches him, earnest and glad, but clearly pleading. “General Oikawa was just…”

Tooru turns far enough to give Daichi a _scathing_ glare over his shoulder. Many of the cooks cower. “Where’s Koushi?” he demands instead of offering any greetings or explanations.

Daichi bites back his first, knee-jerk retort. “I don’t see how it concerns you, General. I was only stopping in to find some provisions for a picnic with him.”

“I’m coming with you.” Tooru is far more frightening when he drops all pretense of flippancy and coyness, but Daichi does not balk at the presented image of the General baring his teeth and gripping the countertop with white knuckles.

“I would be more than happy to spend another afternoon with you, General, but I’m afraid I’m booked for today.”

“It _wasn’t_ his fault,” Tooru nearly growls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daichi smoothly lies, and turns far enough to address the anxious staff behind him. “Please prepare something we can take with us—”

“He likes lamb!” Tooru breaks in. Some of the edge leaves his expression, but his grasp on the countertop remains tight. “I was… trying to make something for him. I failed. I’m not good at this sort of thing, but I’m sure there’s something salvageable… maybe.”

Daichi’s favorite cook once again steps up. “You’ve probably already ruined what you were working with, sir, but we’ll do what we can if you tell us what you’d like prepared.” Daichi adores the woman even more now. It's Shi-something, right…? He dearly wishes he could remember her name, especially in light of how his cavalier attitude toward the palace staff has already bitten him in the ass once. 

There’s still one more witch to find.

“I’d just like some of what’s already ready,” Daichi informs her, and she nods, happy to help him. Tooru still looks _just_ the polite side of murderous. “And, if there’s any left, please prepare lamb for our evening meal when we return. General Oikawa, in the meantime, stop terrorizing my cooks. We can set up our own dinner later.”

The remaining staff bustle about to grab various things—careful to stay away from Tooru’s part of the large room—and Daichi would return to Koushi, if he weren’t so nervous around Tooru’s temper. He knows the Lord-General cares little for Koushi’s health, but Daichi can really only parse Tooru’s behavior as protective.

He wonders what their relationship is, if Tooru is not as influenced by his mother as Daichi had assumed.

By the time Daichi is helping pack a basket full of whatever foods were convenient (but still befitting a Prince and the outdoor setting, even if he sighs at the mild panic this creates), Tooru has wiped off much of his mistakes with a wet rag. He looks rather pathetic, all things considered; his hair is limp and lank in his face, his clothing is likely ruined, and he looks as if he’d just lost some great battle with no hope of revenge.

Daichi can’t allow them to interact, for fear of more conspiring, but pity stirs in his heart. _Does he think me like my father?_ he wonders, and it seems likeliest.

When he returns out into the corridor, the group of gossips standing outside has increased, and Daichi disperses them with a stern look. The two Setarian guards remain sour with him, but considering Tooru’s behavior, he doesn’t mind it enough to reprimand them.

Koushi looks down to the basket in his arms, brows drawing low in confusion, before raising his head to meet Daichi’s eye again.

Daichi moves the basket to one arm, then loops his other with Koushi’s, just as the General has done so many times in the past. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Shall we go?” Daichi asks, though he makes no move for the moment, stalling.

Stalling until the kitchen doors open again behind him. Koushi’s head snaps around, and while Daichi cannot see Tooru, he sees the excitement bloom across Koushi’s face like the grandest of sunrises.

Daichi suddenly finds his heart beating much too fast.

“We’ll be going now, General,” Daichi calls over his shoulder. Koushi goes so far as to offer a little wave to Tooru, but both behave, and don’t address each other. At least now Tooru can see Koushi is safe and sound, unharmed, and perhaps that will smooth things over a bit.

Koushi’s smile becomes tinged with the softest kind of sorrow the further they walk, but at least the smile does remain in _some_ form. It’s a far sight better than he has been.

 

—

 

“I thought we were going for a _walk_ ,” Koushi hisses in Daichi’s ear.

“General, this is Kentarou, our stable and hound master. I’ve never met a single man more talented with animals in my life. Kentarou, this is General Sugawara of Setaria,” Daichi introduces, utterly ignoring him.

Kentarou arches an eyebrow while staring hard at the way their sides are pressed tight. He may be gifted with animals, but he certainly cannot handle people in the same way. He hardly offers a grunt in greeting. Daichi is used to him, and almost forgets for a moment how rude that is, but Koushi seems too annoyed to comment.

“We’d like to take a day trip, so I’ll need Captain and, hm, Starlight prepared.”

Kentarou nods and finally rips his gaze from them.

Koushi only then takes a step away from Daichi. He waits until Kentarou has shuffled down a few stalls before again muttering, “ _Captain_?”

“Asahi only ever made lieutenant, and Captain is a reminder of that. He could have gone farther,” Daichi darkly responds. Asahi didn’t _need_ to formally depart the army with his assignment to Daichi’s side, but he had, and Daichi likes to remind him of that fact. “He’s my favorite, a very good steed. Starlight is a good horse, too, and a little less temperamental.”

“I’d rather go for the walk,” Koushi grumbles as Kentarou comes over with Captain. A blanket has been thrown over the stallion’s back, but he hasn’t been saddled yet, and Koushi goes pale at the sight of the large horse.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Daichi proudly asks. Captain snuffles at him as he approaches, and Daichi fondly pats the horse’s neck. Captain leans into him, spoiled as he is, and Daichi laughs as he scratches him.

Koushi does not get near the horse, and in fact shies away further as Kentarou brings out Starlight. Starlight is smaller, a grey dappled gelding, but Koushi stares at the horse as if he’s preparing for the gallows.

Kentarou narrows his eyes, and steps between the General and horse. “You’re nervous,” he accuses, and Koushi wildly nods his head. Kentarou turns to Daichi with that same accusation written hard in his eyes: _why are you making me deal with another horse-shy noble?_ Granted, it’s not the first time Daichi has been forced to entertain people who’d thought they could handle horses better than they actually can, but rarely is someone so openly apprehensive.

Much less a General of an army.

Daichi doesn’t know how to inquire without seeming offensive. “Are you… not used to southern breeds?”

Koushi shakes his head with such force his hair flies. “I’m not really good with horses. At all.”

Kentarou begins taking Starlight back with a glare for Koushi all the while. Daichi sighs through his nose, and Captain snorts like he’s also judging Koushi. “We’ll give you an easier horse to ride. Kentarou, fetch Moonlight!”

“Starlight and Moonlight?” Koushi asks with a weak smile.

“They’re siblings. And that’s not my fault—I don’t name _all_ the animals here, I’m content with the few I’m bonded to.” Daichi struggles to wrap his mind around the concept of the western Setarian army General being unable to ride into battle with his soldiers. He supposes there are plenty of strategists who stay behind, far from any true battlefields, and direct from afar… Koushi hadn’t struck him as that sort of man, however.

Despite the fact that Moonlight is an incredibly sweet, gentle mare, a horse who has been used dozens of times with new riders and shy knights in training, Koushi still balks.

Daichi had just wanted a picnic. He sighs again.

“Kentarou, get Captain readied, we’ll both be taking him. I can handle this.”

The stable master seems happy with this decision, even if Koushi gives him a particularly puzzled look. He doesn’t voice his concern, however, and Daichi helps ready Captain while Koushi is content to keep a respectable distance. Kentarou grabs the thickest and softest padding he can find and tosses that over Captain’s back, before rummaging for other supplies.

“Just like with the court ladies, Captain,” Daichi murmurs and rubs the horse’s neck while he straightens the blankets. “Be nice.”

Captain snorts again and his ears flick back. He may be strong-willed, but so is Daichi, and the horse has only ever behaved when Daichi holds his reins.

Of course, he’ll have to ensure Captain doesn’t _accidentally_ step on Koushi as soon as Daichi is distracted, but that’s another matter.

“You’ll be riding behind me, General. Captain will behave, and we won’t be going fast, but you should hold on,” Daichi explains as he turns to face Koushi again. The man nods, but he still stares at the black stallion like he’s some fearsome monster. “I know he’s a warhorse, but please stop looking at him like that. It’ll feed his ego far too much.”

“I don’t want to make any enemies at this peace summit, and I’m afraid that includes your favorite horse. You’re absolutely certain we cannot walk ourselves?”

“It’s nearly an hour’s ride. You’ll be fine,” Daichi pauses, debating, but Koushi doesn’t seem to notice the hitch before he says, “Koushi.”

Koushi’s answering smile could warm all of Canuste. (Maybe that’s how he’d survived living in such a climate.) Not for the first time, Daichi has difficulty reconciling this utterly charming man with the cold picture of a Setarian General. It made the war all that more distasteful to think of if _this_ was the kind of face ordering armies to battle.

“You’re talking me into this frightfully easily, but I suppose I could only really lose some dignity. Maybe break some bones, not that I need those,” Koushi flippantly replies, likely to hide his residual nerves.

“A good warhorse can kill twice as easily as any man,” Kentarou deadpans from across the stable.

“Not that Captain would do that to a _guest_!” Daichi cuts in. (The horse gives him a _look_ , and Daichi glares right back.) To change the subject and get things moving before worse than nerves or sour words could interrupt them, Daichi takes a knee, and laces his fingers together. “You’re up first.”

They have stepping blocks for mounting horses, but Koushi is his guest and Captain is his horse and this was all his idea; Daichi isn’t leaving the two of them alone for even a moment, and Kentarou isn’t exactly a party he wishes to invite any closer after _that_ little quip. Daichi is experienced with this sort of thing, so despite how Koushi hems and haws, Daichi waits him out.

Also, helping someone else onto a horse gives the helper a _fantastic_ view of that person’s ass.

Daichi is experienced with this sort of thing, after all.

Koushi delicately steps onto Daichi’s offered boost, and nearly yelps at the sudden movement. Daichi had accounted for flailing, however, and makes sure that Koushi ends up astride the stallion, despite some extra flopping about. Captain shifts in annoyance, but Daichi soothes him as he grins up at Koushi. “There, not so bad, was it?”

Koushi rather looks like he’ll be ill. “Get up here before this thing bucks me off.”

“You’re going to have to move back a little, so just keep balanced for a moment.” Daichi keeps one hand on Captain’s shoulder as he gestures Kentarou over with a stepping block. Koushi remains perfectly still. But the second Daichi settles onto the horse himself, his arms are around Daichi’s middle, and his grip is near crushing. “Alright—you’ll have to hold on, yes, but please let me _breathe_.”

“Sorry,” Koushi murmurs into the back of his neck. His grip relaxes only the slightest bit.

Kentarou gives them both a rather pointed look, but Daichi jerks his head to the side, and his stable master backs off. Daichi knows not everyone is as amicable as he or his personal staff are to the Setarian guests, and he likewise knows that Kentarou is not a man who hides his opinions. But the disparity doesn’t sit well with him.

He’s too used to these people, and Daichi worries about his judgment clouding.

Koushi’s tight grip around his waist and solid pressure against his back are all too pleasant sensations, however. He tenses and shifts closer with every little step of the horse, even though Daichi is just walking them out of the stable, but the fact of the matter is that this man is still with him, sneaking out from the summit, isolated from his own people, and on an animal he does not trust. Because Daichi asked him out on a picnic.

He’s not a bad man, but he _is_ still an enemy.

Unless Daichi can pull through.

Nerves steeled, ribs aching, Daichi leads them away from the palace grounds.

 

—

 

Koushi slides off of the horse with much groaning and little grace.

Daichi would swear Captain rolls his eyes.

“I understand their need. I do. But I’m riding in carriages for the rest of my life,” Koushi whines.

Daichi also rolls his eyes, but with his back turned to the General. He busies himself untying the picnic supplies while Koushi stretches and pouts. “We have to head back eventually,” Daichi reminds him.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to remain out here?”

Koushi’s voice is soft and gentle, but tinged with something sorrowful. When Daichi turns to him, basket in hand, Koushi is staring out at the meadow spread around them. There are trees ringing the area, including lining the path they took, but here, it’s just grasses and flowers. The sun is still bright and high overhead, and the day is comfortably warm. There is a small, winding creek on the far side of the meadow, but this is a suitable spot for a picnic.

“If we stay out here, I don’t have to be a General anymore,” Koushi adds with some wry attempt at humor, but it causes something heavy to settle in the pit of Daichi’s belly. “It’d be far simpler to not be a General anymore.”

Not knowing how to respond, Daichi makes sure Captain will behave before spreading the blanket on the grass. Koushi doesn’t seem inclined to help, but nor is he totally ignoring Daichi; he seems content to stand and idly run his fingers along the flowers he can reach.

“If you weren’t a General, we wouldn’t have met,” Daichi awkwardly forces out.

Koushi finally turns back to him. In the midday sunlight, his hair is radiant and his eyes are the warmest brown. His smile doesn’t quite match the bright picture, however, and there’s something strained in its crookedness. “We probably still would have, Your Highness. But I’m happy to have met you under any circumstances. You’re sweet.”

Daichi’s face goes hot. “It’s sweet of me to lock you in a room and confine you from your allies?”

“You haven’t touched me. I’ve been beaten for less.” Koushi shrugs, dismissive, but there’s an overly calculated pause before he adds, “You have, too.”

“Please, sit,” Daichi says quickly. Koushi does so, on the exact opposite end of the blanket, with plenty of space between them. That hurts, too, nearly as much as his words had. He isn’t certain whether this pain comes from his own strained relationship with his father or the thought that the Setarian Generals believe him to be like the man.

Koushi helps him unbundle the food and they both take turns drinking from the wine bottle before touching anything else. Daichi sees that the cooks had snuck in a small bundle of carrots for Captain, which has not gone unnoticed by his horse; Captain almost immediately comes over to nose at Daichi’s hair, begging as sweet as any pup.

Daichi grins and feeds the shameless beast, then catches Koushi watching him intently. Probably out of mistrust for the horse, but armed with food, Daichi knows Captain will behave himself and stay nearer him. His smile slowly fades as Captain wanders back, munching and contented for the moment, and the men are left in the silence of the bright day.

“Tell me about yourself,” Daichi says.

Koushi shoves small sandwiches into his mouth with a grumpy, defiant air.

“I’m trying to make conversation,” Daichi exclaims in exasperation. “This is not another interrogation. I just want to know about you, as a person. I want to know about the man from Canuste who found himself very recently a commanding officer in a war not native to him.”

“You know I grew up not wealthy,” Koushi replies though he’s still chewing. He swallows, and Daichi pulls the basket of food from him until he gets an answer. “I prefer cold weather to warm weather, but this isn’t bad now. In Setaria it’s colder, but it rains more. The food there and here are both strange. And frankly, I find your accents charming but confusing.”

“I think your accent is rather fetching itself,” Daichi replies and allows Koushi to steal back the food. He eats like a man starved. “Do I make you nervous?”

“I could kill you and leave your body out here,” Koushi tells him without batting an eye. Daichi blanches at the casual tone. “If it weren’t for that beast of a horse and the fact that I have no idea where we are, I could make a very clean escape,” Koushi adds and glances up at him with doe eyes utterly at odds with his words. “You don’t think about your position very often, Your Highness. Generally speaking, dodging your guard detail and cavorting around with enemy military personnel are thought to be poor ideas.”

“We’ve moved from trysts to cavorting?” Daichi replies, at a loss for what else to grasp. He doesn’t like this shift, and he knows he caused it himself by pushing Koushi, but he won’t back down. Koushi doesn’t _scare_ him. “I’ve always been aware of our standings, General.”

Koushi twitches a little at the title.

“You’ve proven yourself the better fighter and I’ve long known you’re the better tactician. I have no field experience and yes, I do like to dodge my guards from time to time. But I’ve also been told I’m an excellent judge of character, and my gut is telling me that you won’t hurt me,” Daichi tells him, voice firm, and Koushi meets his eye for a long moment, before he’s the one to look away.

His eating habits fall away from manic and head more toward polite nibbling.

Daichi grabs the wine bottle back to his side of the blanket and takes a triumphant swig.

“I used to work in a brothel.”

The wine comes back up his throat and nose in the most undignified manner.

Koushi isn’t facing him directly, but Daichi can _see_ that curl to his mouth, and equally obvious is the mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I did their numbers for them. What a vulgar mind you have, Your Highness.”

Daichi wipes his hot face with his sleeve. “M-Maybe I was so shocked you were willingly sharing something about yourself,” he weakly replies with a cough.

“I feel as if I’m the only one ever talking. Why don’t _you_ tell me about _yourself_?”

“Because I’m a public figure and any modern history book would have more about me than I know myself,” Daichi replies, most easily this time, and he allows Koushi to take back the wine, not wanting to risk another incident. His shirt will already stain.

“Books do little to tell me about the way you fawn over your animals, or the way you trust your men, or your temper. You also tend to forget the names of my guards.”

“Trust me, I forget _everyone’s_ names,” Daichi sighs.

Koushi’s eyes flick back to him and he holds the wine bottle to his lips without drinking. “You’ve never forgotten mine. Unless you’ve covered with more grace than I’d think possible.”

“I’ve taken great pains to keep the Generals at the forefront of my mind.”

And Koushi looks away again. He drinks, deeply, and passes the bottle back without eye contact. “If it helps Your Highness, you could forgo the title. You could just use my name. Repetition is best to keep a mind sharp, after all.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Daichi says, and Koushi visibly wilts, “unless you would do the same.”

The General turns back to him, and Daichi nearly shoves the half-empty bottle back at him in some misguided effort to distract Koushi from the heat in his face.

“It’d be improper if it were just one of us,” Daichi mutters.

“We wouldn’t want to be improper,” Koushi agrees.

“And we couldn’t insult each other’s station by placing more import on one than the other.”

“Absolutely not. That would be terrible.”

“And if the Lord-General wishes us to be more familiar with one another…” Not that he can go through with that. And now he regrets bringing the thought of that marriage back into his mind, just for all the traitorous thoughts that accompany it.

Against his better judgment, it seems as if Daichi really has grown fond of Koushi.

A victory for Setaria, then.

“Daichi?” Koushi says, and Daichi’s head snaps up at the sound of his name in that soft, accented voice.

When had they gotten so close?

“You shouldn’t trust me,” Koushi says, and Daichi frowns, “but I want you to. And I want to trust you. And if I do something very foolish right now, I don’t want it to impact what you think of me, alright?”

“Alright,” Daichi replies, puzzled but hopeful.

Koushi is then kissing him, and Daichi cannot fault him, because for some reason, he’s kissing back.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: With the clock ticking down on their time together, stress becomes more of a foe than Koushi has ever been. Daichi needs to think of a way through this gnarled knot of political maneuvering.


	11. flesh and blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You must think me a naive fool.”
> 
> “I think you’re soft, Highness,” Koushi says as he places a hand on Daichi’s bare arm, “but that is not the mark of a bad man. In this instance, I’ve enjoyed it. I don’t want to see the inside of an Amicoran prison.”

“It’d be best if he had the Generals on his side.”

“No, we need to keep this between us, first. Shore up here before trying to tackle foreign forces.”

“We’re talking about trying to usurp a King,” Kenma says with little pity, “he won’t be able to do that if he doesn’t have friends.”

“We need to get the knights on our side,” Tetsurou replies, just as firm, “and we need to make sure we won’t have an immediate coup on our hands.”

Daichi wonders if he can use kittens as earmuffs. “Both of you, stop acting as if we’re going to march on the King tomorrow night,” he wearily commands.

“There’s an idea…” Kenma trails off, but Daichi doesn’t appreciate the attempt at humor. (Stars above, he hopes that had been a joke.) “What if the King pushes you to act? You’ll need allies, Your Highness.”

“Allies that are close at hand would be a lot more useful,” Tetsurou points out.  

“Allies that have armies would be more useful,” Kenma replies.

“There’s no rush to any of this, and you’re _both_ right,” Daichi sighs. His entire approach hinges upon taking his time and letting both the King and Lord-General believe he’s too frustrated with the other’s political horse shit to act. He must amass his own allies and powers before making serious enemies. “My father the King keeps the knights close, and Tetsurou’s right, we do need to figure out how to keep them from becoming his personal army. But I think… With things being as they are right now, it may be easier to act with the Generals.”

“Easier to act with _them_ , huh,” Tetsurou replies with a nasty leer.

“I’m not picking Kenma’s side,” Daichi retorts.

“There’s already the foundations of a treaty,” Kenma says. His expression remains neutral and he doesn’t look directly at either of them, allowing his loose bangs to shield his face, but there is something distinctly pleased in his tone. “Daichi has an established rapport with them, and they’re already hoping to ally with him rather than the King. It’s easier to act with that first.”

“Yeah, but that’s about to blow up in our faces when they realize we can’t marry off our Crown Prince,” Tetsurou says.

“Do you even know how you plan on getting any knights to be loyal to Daichi?” Kenma asks him.

“Well, we could recruit some new ones, and me an’ Asahi can root through them and see if there are any weak links…”

“Everyone knows you two are Daichi’s personal guard. It would only rouse suspicion. Daichi can’t afford any more messy mistakes.”

“Both of you! Please, just drop it for now,” Daichi exclaims. He sets the kitten back down, but almost immediately, it’s picked back up again by an unseen hand. The kitten squirms and mewls, making the mother perk up, and it floats over to Kenma’s waiting hands.

Kenma deposits in Tetsurou’s lap just in time for the angry mother cat to pounce on him too.

When all is said and done, the mother victoriously carries her kitten back to the nest beside Daichi, Kenma is gone, and Tetsurou is bleeding from half a dozen new scratches.

“You know, he’s honestly _exactly_ as capricious as Kou is,” Tetsurou sulks. He looks over his arms, scowling at the droplets of blood oozing out. “Doesn’t seem it right away. I think he’s mad we’re not listening to him.”

“I told him I was going to talk to the Generals…”

“He’s had to be quiet and submissive up until now to avoid people noticing him, and now that he’s got a little attention, you’re dismissive again.”

“I’m not precisely sure it’s _my_ attention he wants, Tetsurou,” Daichi points out.

“He likes to win,” Tetsurou halfheartedly defends. He rakes his fingers back through his messy hair, and from what Daichi can see, there’s a fierce flush over the tops of his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

Daichi is kind enough not to press him, although he believes he’s already made his case on the matter.

“Just be careful. You’re the only person in the world not afraid of witches, and if this is… going somewhere, then I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Just Koutarou,” Tetsurou mumbles. “Workin’ on the other bit.”

“Be careful, Tetsurou. The last thing either of us needs is more enemies.”

At least this earns him a wry attempt at a smirk.

 

—

 

Daichi’s nearly out of time.

Asahi had bullied him into making decisions about the ball and farewell ceremonies ages ago, knowing that stress would pile on the later the summit went, and Daichi is now thankful for this. There is very little input he must provide to any of the party staff. Invitations have already been sent and responded to, the theme has been decided, the decor has been prepared, the menu has been chosen, and Daichi preemptively loathes this ball.

For a long time, he had been looking forward to it, as it’d mark the end of these Setarian officials in his hair. He had taken it to be a mark of his victory in securing a treaty. He would be a Prince triumphant, free of enemies in more than one sense of the term.

Now, he has no headway on his treaty but the _threat_ of it hangs over his head like a guillotine.

He knows the Lord-General expects a marriage. She still has yet to deliver any drafts of her own, and Daichi has since stopped giving her any of his until she makes a move, but a marriage looms. The Church has no say on any royal marriages, and the population at large will have more to say about a Setarian General than another man.

But being unable to produce a blood heir is a significant problem. A legitimate heir. His father would never stand for it, for the idea that the Lord-General is trying to take this from him, or the political maneuvering that must happen if Daichi were to try to circumvent legitimacy. (Daichi is not suited for those kinds of things, after all.)

But if the treaty comes down to this—if the Lord-General refuses to sign a treaty that does not contain a marriage to seal it—then Daichi doesn’t know what he should do. Surely she hopes for him to turn against his father. Surely she hopes for some rebellion or coup.

Some small, dark part of him worries that she may even hope for any kind of coup to fail, to take advantage while his country is weakened. She hopes not for peace, or new rulership, but for an opening.

He cannot discount that concern, even if it reminds him much of his father. Daichi cannot discount anything as of late, much less others’ motives.

So does he play along with her, or make sure to stay in line with what his father wants? He is the Crown Prince, and there is no other heir to take up any slack, but there could still be strain in his future. His father has made little question of how he’ll treat a misbehaving son. Even if Daichi is an adult in his own right, his father is still the King.

Daichi entertains the thought of himself as King.

Briefly.

He also, however traitorously to his own cause, thinks of the prospect of going through with the marriage. What if he were to secure peace between their countries, end the war once and for all. He could be a hero for all of history. He could save countless lives, on both sides, and put a stop to all the warfare and waste.

Briefest of all, he entertains the notion of giving into his own fond feelings. He likes Koushi well enough. He’s admittedly had certain less-than-innocent thoughts about the man. Koushi has made no secret of his own opinions, so Daichi prefers to believe, and if he sincerely also desires peace, then it could work out to be a beneficial arrangement for all.

 _But what of the blood heir_. Daichi has no available family to adopt from, distant or close, and certainly nothing his father would approve of. He doesn’t know of Koushi’s situation, but it wouldn’t help much, considering Koutarou is bound to Amicora’s royal lineage, and they cannot afford to give that up. Daichi does not know how he could convince anyone else to allow him to maintain a royal courtesan to ensure an heir, but then the legitimacy…

It would be easiest to avoid a marriage to a General.

He’ll just have to fight the Lord-General on the matter. If she sincerely desires peace, then _certainly_ she won’t insist purely for spite.

He hopes.

 

—

 

When Asahi must call in a healer to deal with Daichi’s debilitating headache, the man apparently decides enough is enough.

“You’re worrying yourself into an early grave!” Asahi exclaims as he paces.

Daichi tries to concentrate on the feeling of the healer’s fingers massaging his temples. It’s heavenly. His magics are wondrous, however mild, and Daichi has rarely felt more indebted toward another person. It could only possibly be improved if his guard would stop his harping for _five minutes_.

“You’re going to give yourself a stroke. Your heart will stop from stress,” Asahi groans, and tears at his loose hair. “All of this conniving and conspiring, for nothing, because you’ll suffer an early death, and then we’ll all be hung, the country will head to ruin…”

“Discretion, guard,” the healer says with amusement thick in his voice.

Asahi gives them both a baleful, utterly despairing expression.

“If I can do anything to help His Highness, I will, and Azumane raises a good point—you’re too stressed,” the healer continues.

His scolding is secondary to the firm and lovely press of his fingers, and Daichi excuses his tone purely for that. He could never berate someone when they’re banishing pain so effortlessly. Daichi would gladly get on his knees for this man—in any sense he’d like, if it meant he could get spoiled like _this_ more often.

“It’s pointless to tell you not to take the world upon your shoulders, but there are steps you could take to mitigate how poorly you’re handling this. The first of which would be to realize that you cannot do _everything_ , my lord.”

“A good lesson to learn,” Asahi dryly agrees.

“I’m trying to enjoy myself and relax right now. Don’t scold your Prince,” Daichi tells them both.

The healer digs his fingers into Daichi’s scalp, a little cruelly. He cringes and opens his mouth to apologize, but the man speaks again before Daichi can even take a breath. “I’ve kept that old King of ours alive singlehandedly for the past three years, and let me tell you, Highness, that that was _not_ an easy endeavor. I can handle any amount of sass or snark you throw at me, and I’m going to continue ensuring your health regardless.”

“A little more respect for your King,” Daichi murmurs.

“Respect is earned, not given.”

“Morisuke,” Asahi warns (and Daichi is quietly thankful for the healer’s name). “I know you’ve been privy to some certain opinions, but you cannot be so flippant with this.”

Morisuke sighs, though whether out of tiredness or defeat, Daichi cannot tell. “And I cannot even blame my argumentative streak on Tetsurou… I apologize, my lord. I know you’ve all been having a rough time of it, and I just want to allow you to be confident that you have an ally in me. Even if it means I must maintain these headaches of yours. Another source of stress relief would be helpful for you to seek out.”

His voice is colored with amusement again that Daichi does not understand. He hazily blinks up at him, enjoying his massage, but knowing he cannot afford to dismiss an ally throwing himself at them.

“Perhaps stress relief more foreign than domestic?” Morisuke suggests with a grin.

Daichi’s brow furrows.

“He’s saying General Sugawara,” Asahi exclaims, exasperated.

“I’m saying General Sugawara,” Morisuke agrees. Daichi’s brows come down lower. “I’ll be the last to complain if you don’t wish to lay hands on an enemy General, though. You have fine guards, and there are any number of concubines more than willing to jump into bed with our Prince.”

Asahi has gone quite red in the face, but embarrassment has yet to catch up to Daichi; in lieu of that, he holds onto his annoyance. “Your professional opinion is to fuck someone, is it?”

“Yes,” Morisuke replies and knocks Daichi ever so gently on the forehead with his knuckles. “You need to clear your mind and relax, if only for a few minutes. Not to say anything against your stamina, my lord.”

“You’re as bad as Tetsurou.”

“What I wouldn’t give for someone to shut that man up. If you’re volunteering your manhood—”

Daichi sits up abruptly, though his head swims for it. Morisuke braces his hands on his back on reflex. “That’s quite enough,” Daichi grinds out, jaw clenched, headache already returning as if punishment for his irritation. He doesn’t need these images in his mind, nor does he have the time to waste dallying in such manners.

“Don’t look so dour,” Asahi mutters as he helps Daichi back to his feet.

He still feels a little dizzy, but the feeling fades, and his head does not pound quite so much now. But more than it had while he’d been under Morisuke’s care, regrettably. “Oh, and you’d rather I jump into bed with you?” Daichi asks him.

“There’s no way I can answer that that would please anyone,” Asahi replies, and his frown is on the very edge of a pout. “Thank you, healer, we’ll keep your words in mind.”

(It isn’t until later that Daichi realizes he hadn’t meant the conversation about sex, but rather the kind of loyalty Morisuke had professed.)

 

—

 

Daichi stares out into the dark waters of the memory pond. The night is dark, and no amount of adjustment could save his vision. It had been halfway by memory and through no small amount of luck he’d made it here at all without falling into the pond or walking face first into a tree.

Perhaps not a tree, but Daichi had tripped more than once. Punishment for his refusal to bring even a candle, surely.

The night has grown cool, but the day itself had been warm, and there is still heat lingering in the garden around him. He’s already in his bedclothes, only with an open long-sleeved shirt thrown on overtop, and he has taken off his boots to toe at the grass. He can see the appeal, though he’s thankful for well-fitting boots all the same.

Daichi stares at the water, seeing nothing.

If the Lord-General digs her heels in, then what will he do? Would he give up his birthright in order to secure lasting peace?

But what if his father disowns him for it? Then he could declare war again himself, or it could turn into a civil war. A coup would be a mercy, but that means Daichi must be ready to act far sooner than he’d anticipated, with far less than he’d hoped. Amicora cannot stand a civil war right now, as fractured and battered as it is. And if they’re further weakened, and if they don’t have a treaty with their enemies to the north…

Daichi could see the Generals again. On the other side of a battlefield, as intended by history.

The farewell ball is tomorrow evening, and Daichi is unable to sleep because of everything. He has the suspicion Asahi has figured out that he’s snuck out, but perhaps he let him go as an act of mercy.

He has so little time left with Koushi. Tomorrow, the _very next_ day, he must return him to the Setarian envoy. As cruel as it may be of him, he has enjoyed having the man to himself, now that he’s not so hostile anymore. Not that Daichi blames him. He’s made tentative peace with the puzzles and mind games; he sincerely enjoys his company, in as many senses of the word as applies.

Daichi doesn’t want the war to continue. He doesn’t want to face down these people as enemies. But he fears losing the crown, and he fears what his father may do if left unchecked.

A tap on the shoulder startles him badly enough to elicit a yelp.

Daichi turns so quickly he nearly falls off the bench. It’s no surprise that it’s Koushi standing behind him, the picture of innocence, but it _ought_ to be a surprise considering the man has been confined. Not to mention the whole middle of the night in the gardens thing.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Koushi tells him with a cheeky smile Daichi can just barely make out in the darkness.

“Someone ought to put a bell on you,” Daichi returns. He tries to salvage what dignity he can, which is little.

Koushi sits down beside him. He’s also dressed in little, as per his usual for his nightly jaunts; he has a coat folded over his arm, neutral brown and thick wool, and his loose trousers have been rolled up nearly to his knees. His shirt has been unbuttoned halfway down his sternum again, and he’s nearly as pale as the white fabric. He’s a vision in white, in the dark night, and Daichi pulls his mind from spirits back to the worrisome present.

“You shouldn’t be outside,” Daichi tells him. Koushi indulgently inclines his head toward him, probably still smiling. Daichi won’t turn to check. “Not only have you dodged your own guard detail, but now you’re dodging _mine_.”

“Who do you think let me out?” Koushi replies. Daichi sighs through his nose. “Not that I couldn’t leave on my own, mind. You’ve been quite bad at remembering to lock the door behind you the past two nights.”

“You must think me a naive fool.”

“I think you’re soft, Highness,” Koushi says as he places a hand on Daichi’s bare arm, “but that is not the mark of a bad man. In this instance, I’ve enjoyed it. I don’t want to see the inside of an Amicoran prison.”

“The Lord-General wouldn’t stand for it,” Daichi mutters. “And I thought we were dispensing with the formalities while alone.”

Koushi leans against him with a happy hum, nearly a purr. “You’re a wonderful bleeding heart, Daichi, and I like this about you. I’m not used to seeing mercy in others. It’s refreshing.”

“I know you mean well, but it only comes off as patronizing. Can we change the subject?”

“To what? It’s much too dark for another garden tour. Frankly, I’m astounded you’ve made it out here in one piece.” With that, Koushi reaches over to smooth his hand up over Daichi’s shirt, a firm pressure over his chest and stomach. “Yep, still one piece. Had to check, for your safety, of course.”

“Isn’t that technically a lie?” Daichi asks, amused despite himself.

“I’m very invested in your personal safety, Daichi,” Koushi informs him. Daichi privately enjoys the way his accent plays over the softened vowels of his name.

Koushi’s hand remains by his waist, resting against him, just as his head has come to rest against Daichi’s shoulder. Despite their similarity in size, Koushi appears keen on using Daichi for a pillow as much as humanly possible. Daichi is content to allow him.

“We’re leaving the day after tomorrow,” Koushi says when Daichi doesn’t respond. As if either of them need the reminder. “And tomorrow is the farewell ball. I imagine we’ll be up until dawn with all of the festivities. Shouldn’t you be asleep in bed?”

“I could say the same of you,” Daichi replies.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“There is still so much to be done,” he groans, and drops his head into his hands. Not a moment later, Koushi gently guides him back up, now facing him. His hands cup Daichi’s face, gentle as his smile, and Daichi leans into his touch. “I’m enjoying the attention, but I don’t need your pity, Gener—Koushi. _Koushi_.”

Koushi’s mouth quirks up crookedly in yet another smile. Or, perhaps, closer to a smirk. “It sounds as if you need to forget your station for a little while, Your Highness.”

“Oh, come now. That’s not necessary.”

“I notice you aren’t wearing anything befitting a prince tonight.”

Daichi doesn’t understand, and he raises an eyebrow, but he responds, “And you’ve neglected your uniform yet again.”

“So wouldn’t it be easy to ignore these different stations tonight? No more titles, Daichi,” Suga says, rubbing his thumbs along Daichi’s cheekbones, and Daichi leans further into him. Their faces are quite close, and he cannot help but glance down at Koushi’s lips as he speaks. “We’re just two men, enjoying each other’s company, before responsibilities must steal us away again tomorrow. Just enjoy this.”

“The healer told me I needed stress relief,” Daichi jokes, and Koushi fixes him with an expectant, curious look. “I like the man well enough, but he actually suggested I lay with you to find it. He’s made no secret of his thoughts on your country, so I could hardly believe it.”

Koushi, however, doesn’t seem at _all_ surprised. “Azumane suggested something similar. You’re very wound up, Daichi. It’s best to take the advice of professionals, isn’t it?”

Koushi’s hands travel south, cupping Daichi’s jaw, then running his cool fingers down his throat.

Somehow, Daichi doesn’t believe this is happening. He’s not certain as to why.

But by the time Koushi is reaching up beneath his shirt to knead at the firmness of his waist, Daichi has closed the gap between them, and their mouths meet. Koushi kisses so sweetly Daichi wants to melt into him; it’s a surprising and endearing counterpoint to his cheeky demeanor.

Koushi keeps his hands on Daichi like he wants to map out every part of him. Daichi shivers from every brush and flash of cool air on hidden skin, but he does not gasp until he feels the press of teeth against his bottom lip.

Daichi winds his arms around Koushi to pull him closer, as close as their positioning will allow, as close as he himself will allow. For his part, Koushi seems to want to get as close as he can as well.

His hands move down Daichi’s stomach, leaving trails of sparks in their wake. Daichi can’t help the way his breath hitches when Koushi’s fingertips rest on his stomach, just above the waistline of his trousers, pulling up the drawstring of his pants and playing with it against his stomach.

It’s a move intended to get him excited and Daichi isn’t fool enough to deny that it’s working, damn him.  

Koushi smirks into his mouth, and before Daichi can do anything about it, Koushi is kissing his way down his neck while his hand slips lower, kneading against Daichi's hardening cock—before he pulls away altogether.

The tease. Daichi opens his eyes, confused and rapidly becoming aware again of their location and positions, and sees that Koushi has gotten up to stand in front of him. With a coy smile, Koushi leans into his personal space to kiss him again, before he takes a seat on Daichi’s lap.

Daichi shifts back on the bench to give Koushi further space, and is rewarded with Koushi deftly untying his trousers, one-handed no less, and slipping his hand inside.

They’re in the gardens—they’re still _outside_. Yet this thought is only thrilling, paradoxical as it may seem. They’re outside, and who knows who may be looking for them. The chance at discovery sets his blood running hot just as surely as Koushi’s firm hand.

Daichi’s hands can’t help but make their way to Koushi’s ass as he wriggles and shifts to accommodate himself. Purely to help stabilize him, of course, but Daichi groans again at the feel of Koushi’s muscles beneath the thin fabric of his pants. Better, still: the sensation of Koushi’s hard cock against his thigh.

They’re still outside, they both need to be sleeping, and this is an enemy General.

Daichi’s heart thrums in his chest as Koushi captures his mouth again.

One hand still on his ass, Daichi slides his other up over Koushi’s hem to reach for his straining erection. Koushi hums against his lips, pleased, but pulls away as soon as Daichi begins fighting with his pants. “Let me,” Koushi whispers.

Daichi blinks up at him. Koushi smiles, sly as sin, as he leans away from him. Koushi braces himself with one hand on Daichi’s thigh while he unties his own pants. As Daichi watches, he gives himself a few long, slow strokes, and Daichi once again reaches for him, only to have his hand pushed away.

Koushi resettles his weight forward and presses their cocks against one another. Someone’s breath hitches—Daichi thinks it had been his—and Koushi kisses him again at the same time he wraps his hand around both of them. “Let me,” he repeats, and trails a line of wet kisses down Daichi’s jaw and neck, “do this for you, Daichi.”

Daichi understands, now; he tilts his head back to allow access, and likewise allows Koushi to dictate it all. The pace and pressure, the minute rocking of his hips, the way he’ll press his teeth into Daichi’s throat like a tease. Koushi’s hand is not large enough to cover both of them, but it’s still wonderful, still the perfect amount of firmness.

Daichi’s hips jump when Koushi bites his neck, and Koushi certainly takes notice.

“I’m going to—” He means to warn him— _I’m not going to last much longer, not if you do that again_ —but almost immediately Koushi moves a little lower and bites down even harder. The noise Daichi lets out is incriminating at best. He doesn’t speak any true words, just half-broken syllables as he digs his fingers into the meat of Koushi’s ass.

Koushi’s hand tightens and his teeth saw into the thin skin of Daichi’s neck with something approaching _ferocity_. Heat tightens in Daichi’s belly. When Koushi’s tongue darts out to soothe the bite, however, that’s when Daichi comes, with a stutter of his hips and a gasp of the General’s name.

Koushi strokes him through it, drawing the pleasure from him, and when Daichi manages to crack open an eye, he finds him staring at him with eyes full of hunger.

His body trembles while it comes down from his high, but arousal remains coiled within him at the heat in Koushi’s gaze. Chest heaving, Daichi leans forward, and Koushi meets him with an open mouth and a pleased sigh.

However, when Daichi reaches down to grasp Koushi’s cock, his hand is pushed away again.

Koushi comes not a moment later, nearly silent, bottom lip bitten white. Daichi thinks he’s beautiful, and he can’t blame that on the sex. When they meet for another kiss, Koushi pants into his mouth, and it’s twice as filthy as before. They’re both sweating and dirty and Daichi in particular is a mess, but this is secondary to the simple pleasure of spending this moment with him.

The moment passes when, in the process of Koushi wiping his hand on Daichi’s shirt, Daichi remembers that they’re outside, potentially with people looking for them, and he’s a filthy Crown Prince with an enemy General seated upon his lap.

“Did you just,” Daichi asks as calmly as he can, “wipe _your_ come on me as well?”

“You were already the dirtier between us,” Koushi sweetly replies with another peck against the corner of Daichi’s mouth. “And now I can be proud of how filthy I’ve made Your Highness.”

“You did this on purpose!”

“I like to leave my mark,” Koushi tells him. Daichi’s face burns, and he is loath to admit it, but there’s something appealing about the idea—and the confidence with which Koushi declares it. “Especially on royalty. _I_ think you look dashing, all rumpled and ravished.”

“I don’t think ravished,” Daichi retorts, because he must salvage his pride somehow.

To his surprise, Koushi doesn’t fall into any easy banter, nor even sweet nothings. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he replies honestly. After a thoughtful pause, he adds, “More relaxed, I suppose I’ll give you that.”

“Good.” Koushi smiles, neither sly, nor smug, nor even sad. It’s been what feels like ages since Daichi has seen such simplicity from him. He slides off of Daichi, stretching out his legs cautiously, and they both look at the come smeared across Daichi’s shirt and stomach. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought that coat for you.”

“How much of this was premeditated?” Daichi suspiciously asks, and Koushi doesn’t respond. Instead, he helps him tug off the soiled shirt, and they wipe off his stomach as best they can. Koushi offers him the thick coat and Daichi shrugs it on, leaving it unbuttoned. The night’s chill hasn’t caught back up with his overheated body.

It doesn’t feel fair, for some reason, to dress and hardly speak to one another. It is less fair to walk back toward the palace in silence.

Daichi doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been in the habit of thanking his lovers; it seems awkward and not exactly becoming of a Prince to thank someone for something mutually entertaining. He doesn’t have any quips or questions, and fatigue pulls at the edge of his thoughts, further muddling them. He feels he ought to say or do _something_.

“You can blame your missing shirt on me,” Koushi tells him just before they slip back inside.

Daichi doesn’t think anyone will even notice if he’s missing a sleep shirt. “I’ll return your coat tomorrow.”

“You can keep it, it’s Tooru’s,” he cheerily replies.

Daichi is even more firm on returning it now.

They bid each other goodnight. Daichi doesn’t offer to escort him to his borrowed chambers, nor does Koushi offer the same for him. It’s not awkward, but there is something delicately strained now, and Daichi cannot put his finger on what it might be.

As he settles into his bed, gladly letting sleep claim him, he wonders if he might want to pursue further things with Koushi. At the very least, invite him back with him. The bed seems large and cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi must navigate the farewell ball.


	12. blood on the dance floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I apologize,” Daichi stiffly replies, and casts about desperately for some cover. Asahi’s fingers dig into his arm, but no answer comes from his direction. “It was only… I was momentarily stunned by your beauty, Lord-General.”
> 
> Not his brightest moment.

Daichi wakes with another in his bed. It is not the man he _wants_ in his bed.

With his cheek cupped in his hand, Koutarou lays on his side directly next to Daichi, eyes bright in the dim dawn light. He grins when he sees Daichi groggily process his presence. “Good morning, my lord,” Koutarou chirps.

“What do you want,” Daichi grumbles with a sleep-rough voice. He doesn’t see either Asahi or Tetsurou here.

“I’m your escort for the day,” Koutarou _very_ happily informs him.

“You… what? That’s beneath you.”

“How sweet of you to say,” he replies with a hand against Daichi’s cheek. He combs back some of his unruly hair, then pats him, like Daichi is a well-behaved pet. “But you could never be beneath me, Daichi. Unless you mean that physically, but you aren’t right now. Your father so very politely asked me to keep an eye on you today, to prevent any indiscretions.”

Daichi knows exactly what kind of indiscretions he means. He’s not ashamed, but he is cautious when he asks, “And does my father know of any in particular?”

“No, I think he just doesn’t want any shouting matches at this ball tonight.” Koutarou rubs at his nose, and looks away when he adds, “Though I can tell you didn’t bathe last night. Do you often go around smelling like other men?”

Daichi _nearly_ asks him if he’s a dog. It is too early to have witch-related troubles, and Daichi knows that his father’s order here means the opposite as well: Daichi is meant to keep Koutarou out of trouble. Kenma was an accident, but as far as the King knows, Koutarou is the only witch Daichi is aware of. And if they’re together, neither of them can go near the Setarian envoy.

“Then join me in the baths this morning,” Daichi nobly says instead. Koutarou grins, and for a moment, he almost looks innocent.

 

—

 

“Hold _still_ , what are you, a child?!”

It’s a strange day when Asahi loses his temper at _both_ Daichi and Koutarou.

“It won’t _fit_ ,” Koutarou maintains with a scowl just this side of dangerous. “And I don’t appreciate others trying to shove me into something _anyway_.”

“Maybe,” Kenma says, “if you weren’t so big, you would actually fit into clothes like normal humans are meant to wear.”

Daichi is twice as scared of Kenma blowing his cover than he is of Koutarou throwing a fit. He hastily intervenes and Asahi tugs Kenma to the side. The smaller witch is meant to be masquerading as an attendant tonight, blending in with the others given the unenviable job of dressing the Crown Prince and Court Witch for the farewell ball, but Kenma isn’t keen on this.

He is less keen on holding his tongue when he has gotten used to speaking freely.

“Go, find Tetsurou,” Daichi orders. Kenma’s eyes flash as his mouth twists down into a thankfully normal pout. Asahi gently pushes Kenma toward the door. “Make sure he’s ready, you know what his hair is like.”

Asahi’s sigh of relief when Kenma leaves is nearly as incriminating as anything else.

“I need bigger clothes,” Koutarou loudly announces. The two remaining attendants jump and something like despair crosses their faces. “Just let me wear my normal clothes! I hate the state uniforms.”

“Why are we just finding out about this now?” Daichi groans. “You should have had fittings done months ago. How have you even _grown_ since the last event?” Koutarou has looked largely the same for all of Daichi’s memories of him.

Koutarou flexes one arm proudly. “Me an’ Tetsurou have been training more. Someone has to get him up to par with army men!”

“I haven’t been in service for years,” Asahi mutters.

“We’re going to find something that fits you,” Daichi says, half a threat, and Koutarou drops his arm with a sad droop. “You’re the Court Witch, and your introduction to the Generals is going to be key in how we approach them in the future.”

“Yeah, yeah, living weapon, I know how this works. Certainly better than young princes.”

No one’s happy as they get dressed for the evening.

 

—

 

Literal magic must have been used to get Tetsurou’s hair as flat as it is. It is held back with a braided band of gold, matching the one in Asahi’s hair, but Daichi knows that’s for show. He’s tried to fight that thing onto Tetsurou’s head himself. The man is more cowlick than guard, and yet, he almost looks presentable.

“Good to see your street stray has finally shaped up into something nearing a proper guard,” the King mutters, and the scornful expression he spares Daichi’s men is thinly veiled at best.

“He’s my advisor,” Daichi points out.

“I thought the little page was your advisor now.”

Daichi had _told_ him that Tetsurou was remaining at his station despite Kenma’s addition. Daichi shrugs one shoulder and tries his _damnedest_ to maintain an unaffected air. “I need all the help I can get.”

The King scoffs. “Sometimes, I wonder, boy. At least you’re smart enough to realize that. You two!” Both Asahi and Tetsurou snap to rigid attention. “I don’t want you to leave my son’s side. There’s no telling what Nanashi may pull tonight, foolish peace talks or not. It’s not as if the woman has any respect for that sort of thing.”

“Yes, sir!”

 _Who’s going to make_ you _behave?_ Daichi wonders, and barely bites his tongue on the words. Most of the court will be attending, in addition to all of the higher officers who aren’t away in the field. The King will have his own personal guard attending to him. Daichi sincerely hopes at least _someone_ has enough sense to keep he and the Lord-General separated.

The Grand Hall has been transformed for the evening: it is draped in royal purples, bright gold, and all manner of pearls and glimmering shells making the hall shine. The theme is the ocean, both for its beauty and because Setaria has no coast of its own, and in hindsight, Daichi wishes he could have realized how it could be seen as petty. At the time, he had only wanted some easy mark of pride for his country.

The King and Prince wear new coronets, commissioned specifically for this; Daichi’s is inlaid with pearls, diamonds, and sapphires, and he must admit, he rather likes it. It’s not often he gets out of state wear in national colors. He and his father have dressed outside of uniform, or as far as they’re allowed to in front of foreign officials, though the heavy mantle and many layers are making Daichi sweat all the same as usual attire.

At least he can’t dance in it. He looks forward to taking it off later in the evening.

More than that, he looks forward to the chance to dance with Koushi.

As unfortunate as it is considering their stations and positions in others’ chess board, he is genuinely fond of the man. Time is short, but at least they have every excuse in the world to spend time together tonight. After niceties and appearances are given, no one cares what happens. They want scandal, and gossip, and alcohol. It’s strange, but at large parties such as this, it’s one of the few populated spaces that Daichi can be ignored.

Not soon enough—Daichi’s shoulders ache from the weight of his mantle and he’s struggling not to keep his knees locked as he stands—the Setarian envoy, last and most important announced guests of the evening, arrive. Koutarou shuffles from foot to foot on the King’s other side, but after a sharp glance, the witch snaps to attention. Daichi stands a little taller, too, without needing any silent chastising.

Lord-General Oikawa leads their procession with her head held even higher than usual, nose nearly in the air. Her chestnut hair is pinned into a tight braid around the crown of her head, though she wears no other decorations, not even jewelry. Nor does she wear makeup, making her lips appear pale and not hiding the scar that winds across her face.

She wears her formal military coat atop her dress, rank on her shoulders and medals on her chest, and her long skirt brushes the floor with every movement. The fashion must be longer in the north, as most of the dresses and skirts on the Amicoran guests brush ankles (or the scandalous, attention-seeking ones baring calves and stockings).

The Lord-General is flanked not by her personal guard, but the her two accompanying Generals, and Daichi’s breath is momentarily stolen by the sight.

Not only do they make a powerful group—strong figures in stark black uniform, looking like executioners chasing prey—but they look _good_.

Tooru is generally the type of man to look handsome no matter what, but it’s always an artificial, if flattering, air; tonight, despite the carefully prepared appearance, he looks naturally elegant and at ease in the confidence he wears. (He wears it well.) His hair, that same chestnut shade as his mother, is pinned back on one side with a glittering barrette of sapphire and silver. He very nearly matches Daichi. His face is flawless and clear, wearing the makeup his mother denies, and his eyes have been darkened further by kohl lining his lashes. He looks _dangerous_.

But he’s little compared to Koushi.

Koushi, as if to match (likely, knowing the woman leading them), has his hair pinned back on the opposite side as Tooru, though all of it has been swept back. It reminds Daichi strongly of his official portrait. The barrette in his hair, silver as well and nearly lost in his matching hair, also holds emerald, completing the Setarian colors, along with their fully black uniforms.

Koushi’s eyes are also lined with kohl, and he’s so pale as it is, it only makes the copper in his eyes stand out more. Daichi can feel their weight upon him as they come down the stairs. The low heels on the men’s shoes _click_ as they go, largely the only sound in the Grand Hall as every soul present watches their enemy approach their monarch. For most, it’s their first view of the Generals.

The whispers don’t break out until all three of them are on the ground floor and kneeling to give their regards to the King and Crown Prince.

Koushi, noticeably, hardly bows his head. Instead, he stares up at Daichi, as if fully aware of how damning his appearance is. Daichi’s face feels too hot, and he cannot blame it on his many layers.

He’s only _just_ admitted he has some traitorously soft feelings toward the man—privately—and now he shows up looking every bit a classical model, a muse for the stars themselves. Northern fashion apparently lends itself to looser pants than what Daichi is used to, but none of his uniforms hides the trimness of his waist or the strength of his shoulders.

As Daichi numbly watches from up upon his dais, Koushi reaches up and trails a finger down his chest, feigning adjusting the buttons on his coat.

The murmuring in the Grand Hall grows.

And Daichi suddenly stumbles the two steps off of the dais when his knee buckles without warning.

He catches himself before he falls entirely, and the entire room freezes. Daichi finds himself crouched before the Lord-General—uncharacteristically surprised—and in the same moment, his mind processes the familiar push of magic that had sent him there.

Daichi doesn’t dare look back at Koutarou. He doesn’t even want to look away from the Lord-General. The back of his neck prickles with heat, both embarrassment as well as anger, and the hall collectively holds its breath.

Daichi waits for the bark of his father.

Instead, he hears Tetsurou’s _awful_ cackling ringing out clear and loud.

It’s _swiftly_ followed by Tooru’s less carrying (but somehow more undignified) snort of laughter.

Daichi stares at him, still processing all of this, as Asahi hastens to his side to help him up. As subtly as he can, he murmurs his usual calming mantras, but Daichi doesn’t think he’s so angry anymore. Well, yes, he will have words with Koutarou later, but the tension in the room is broken.

“I never took His Highness for someone so clumsy,” the Lord-General says, also back in her usual persona. She rises without permission, and after an awkward beat, the men behind her do as well. Tooru still smothers ugly giggles into his coat cuffs.

“I apologize,” Daichi stiffly replies, and casts about desperately for some cover. Asahi’s fingers dig into his arm, but no answer comes from his direction. “It was only… I was momentarily stunned by your beauty, Lord-General.”

Not his brightest moment.

The flat look she spares him is twice as cutting as any response she could give him.

“Fine then,” Daichi amends, “ _your_ grace and _his_ beauty, Lord-General. My apologies, again.”

Koushi gapes at him, and the Lord-General rolls her eyes with the practiced indulgence of a mother. However, it seems Daichi’s instinct led him true, and she dismisses him with a minute jerk of her head. Daichi resumes his place beside his father. The man, even in his peripherals, appears about as pleased as Daichi would expect.

 _Perhaps the alcohol tonight will numb him to this early annoyance_ , Daichi wonders, not quite hopeful, and does his best to remain with his attention ahead rather than turning to glare at the witch as he so wishes. _Why in dark hell would Koutarou do that?_

While impulsive and enigmatic, Koutarou’s first interest is always to protect and serve the royal line. He’s literally bound to do so. And while it’s not as if he actively harmed Daichi, an embarrassment in front of the court and foreign officials is nothing to scoff at, and who knows how his father will view it.

Mercifully, the first dance is called and the musicians fill the space with music.

Less mercifully, Daichi must now dance with the Lord-General, as the King stepped down from the privilege as it is _Daichi’s_ peace summit.

The woman’s grip on him is like iron, and her stance and movements are heavier still. She moves as though she is the leader, and at first Daichi indulges it with a rictus smile, but soon he sees it for just another power play. It figures that the dance between them would turn into yet another struggle. What is meant to be a slow waltz becomes more like a battlefield; the only true mercy in the Lord-General is that she does not step on his feet out of spite.

They are the longest four minutes of Daichi’s life.

But then, after a curtsey and a bow, he is free.

It is with little subtlety and no grace that he approaches Koushi next as the nobility and guests filter onto the dance floor. Koushi meets him halfway, smiling warmly, and joins him in frame like they’re two puzzle pieces fitting together.

Unlike the Lord-General, he _does_ step on Daichi’s feet.

“Sorry,” Koushi murmurs, smile now helpless and crooked (and impossibly endearing for it), “I’m not used to following.”

“You can lead the next dance,” Daichi offers at once, despite the fact that he knows nothing of dancing as a follower. Who would ever lead the Crown Prince, after all?

Daichi will probably not get back on his father’s good side at all this evening. Who knows what the palace gossip will turn out to be after all is said and done, unless something worse happens, such as someone getting sick or another incident orchestrated by Suguru. Perhaps Koutarou will set someone’s tailcoat on fire.

“Your dances seem so chaotic here,” Koushi says, amused, and stumbles only slightly as Daichi spins them to avoid another pair of dancers (undoubtedly hoping to eavesdrop on such an infamous couple). “No one gives anyone any space! And without dance cards, how do you know how it will all happen?”

“People ask who they want to dance,” Daichi replies with his own smile. It makes Koushi’s grow brighter, and in return, Daichi’s smile widens, too. What a charming cycle. “Though unfortunately, it is still frowned upon for me to steal you for the entire evening.”

“But you’ll owe me at least one more dance,” Koushi eagerly points out. “The Setarian General must end up leading His Highness, after all. It’ll be the talk of your court for months!”

“Don’t remind me, I’ll rescind my offer.”

“Don’t be so petty. It’s unbecoming, especially on a man such as yourself.”

This dance ends far too soon. Daichi and Koushi part, slow and hesitant, and their obviousness only serves to send fans fluttering and eyes prying further. Daichi doesn’t care to make a secret of this, not if he’s hoping to play it up. His heart enjoys it, even if he’s doing it for the benefit of making the Lord-General believe this marriage will happen.

He _will_ get that treaty, no matter the cost, but at least this particular cost is pleasant for the time being.

 

—

 

It isn’t Koutarou setting someone’s tailcoat on fire, but scandal to eclipse the Prince’s clusminess and penchant for a certain foreigner does indeed happen in the form of Generals Ushijima and Oikawa meeting.

The problem is twofold: Wakatoshi and Tooru are _not_ meant to meet (indirectly agreed upon by all involved), and Wakatoshi had been _explicitly ordered_ not to approach Tooru under any circumstance. At least the witches largely _tried_ to avoid the Generals when ordered. General Ushijima has not yet been home for a week.

By the time Daichi hears of it—first through murmurs and then through gasps and the floor rapidly clearing—weapons have been drawn and they’re close to bloodshed.

Wakatoshi has his hand on the hilt of his sword (meant to be ceremonial, but Daichi knows for fact the man keeps even his decorative weapons in working order), but worse are the two Setarian guards, each with a pistol pointed at the man’s head. One of Wakatoshi’s men has a knife held to Hanamaki’s neck. Tooru stands before Wakatoshi, fists clenched, but not visibly armed.

Daichi’s dance partner, a knight captain he rather likes (a rarity), does not try to restrain him when he leaves her mid-dance in order to intervene. In fact, he thinks she pushes him, rather aggressively. He likes her all the more now.

The Lord-General is already storming in their direction, pulling her sword free of its sheath, and Tetsurou and Asahi are at Daichi’s side in the space of two steps. He doesn’t see his father or the other enemy General at the moment, but he has no time to spare. “Restrain them! Separate them at once!” Daichi snaps and breaks into a jog as he sees the Lord-General do the same. “Reach them before _she_ does!”

“Drop your weapon!” the Lord-General barks, halfway across the ballroom. As if they needed to cause more of a scene.

“ _Koutarou_!” Daichi shouts and the witch drops from the sky like rain. He floats above their heads, and with a gesture from the Prince, he’s off like a shot and in between the fighting men in a heartbeat.

Both Tooru and Wakatoshi balk when they realize who it is.

“Everyone here will _stand down_ ,” Daichi says, reaching them mere moments before the Lord-General does. “Weapons down! This is a ball, not a battlefield!”

“Tell that to _him_!” Tooru insists, sneering.

“At least I was _on_ the battlefield, not cavorting around with misaimed peace talks, away from my men,” Wakatoshi flatly replies.

“And how many of _my men_ did you slaughter this time, you monster?!”

“I was protecting _mine_ —” Wakatoshi begins, but with a gesture from Daichi, the man crumples and Koutarou catches him with ease. The witch hefts him in one arm, a show of strength, and with ferocity rarely glimpsed, he glares down the Setarian guards until they lower their guns.

“Back away from my men,” the Lord-General orders.

Which puts Daichi in a difficult position. He _wants_ them all to leave, to defuse the situation, but he cannot seem like he’s deferring to her concerning his men. Koutarou tenses, shifting Wakatoshi in his grasp, and Wakatoshi’s commandant eyes him like he wants to say something. Asahi and Tetsurou both step in closer to Daichi.

Daichi scans the hall, and finds his father on the far side, still seated, even when his company is standing in their shock.

 _The man doesn’t care_ , Daichi realizes, like cold water down his back. _He probably wants an excuse to dismiss the peace talks._

Daichi cannot defer to the Lord-General, the King is going to remain passive, and Daichi cannot countermand her. There’s no easy, diplomatic way out of this. No neutral way out.

His duty is first and foremost to his own countrymen. Surely, _surely_ the Generals will not be so spiteful as to halt the treaty just for this.

“Asahi, take General Ushijima and his man, and escort them from the ball,” Daichi quietly orders, and Asahi steps forward despite the trembling of his shoulders. Before it can seem like Daichi is listening to the Lord-General, however, he wields the power in front of him. “Koutarou, disarm them.”

In a rush of wind, guns and swords are knocked into the air. There are alarmed shouts, but the weapons stay safely overhead, and Koutarou keeps them up with deceptively lazy flicks of his fingers. He’s still glaring daggers at the Setarian officers. Daichi must defuse him, too.

“There will be no bloodshed tonight—as I said, this is a ballroom, _not_ a battlefield. It’s a party in your honor, Generals, and I would hate for anything to disrupt that. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening, and put this from your minds.” Daichi bows, slight and stilted, and reaches forward to grab Koutarou’s elbow. It’s like reaching forward into a pit of vipers.

Koutarou’s head snaps to him, eyes still blazing, and he doesn’t exactly _relax_ , but he does follow Daichi’s lead. The weapons drop to the ground around him—aside from the Lord-General’s sword, which he catches in an outstretched hand without looking. He only pulls his eyes from Daichi in order to examine it. “What a lovely blade, Lord-General.” He offers it back to her personally, holding it by the blade for her to accept the jeweled hilt. “It’s such a pity it smells of so much blood.”

“What a thing for a witch to say,” she replies when she takes it.

There are no further incidents which can compare. Daichi is grateful, but he cannot push his father’s apathy from his mind. The man had just _watched_.

Tooru cuts in to one of the later dances, and certainly if he weren’t so handsome and accomplished, he would’ve offended the Margrave Daichi had been entertaining. As it stands, no offense is taken, and frankly, Daichi finds the General’s company preferable. It’s the first time Daichi has been near the man since the earlier incident, but even so, Tooru forces himself into the lead without a care for Daichi’s opinion.

He really _is_ a terrible follower.

“Don’t frown so much, you’ll get early wrinkles,” Tooru tells him with no small amount of smugness.

“I’m only a hair older than _you_ , and with how hard you were scowling at my General, it’s a miracle your entire face isn’t made of lines,” Daichi returns. Tooru’s smile lessens, but doesn’t vanish. “I didn’t appreciate such a show, earlier.”

“Don’t stick your nose in places it doesn’t belong, Your Highness,” Tooru says. He’s scarier for the smile, now. “A spoilt Prince cooped up in his gilded cage of a palace has earned no opinion on the matters of the battlefield.”

Daichi heavily considers stopping the dance then and there. With how much time they spent together, Daichi had managed to push their dark history to the back of his mind; it is only privilege that he’s allowed to, with his lack of experience and blood on his hands. While Tooru is correct, and it stings all the more for it, they can’t afford another altercation.

But Daichi has never been one to be able to hold his tongue when it counted most.

“General,” he replies through clenched jaws, “an officer is only as good as his soldiers, that is the first thing I’d been taught of warfare. And considering you have never gained a single military victory over _my_ General, whether or not I personally have stepped foot onto a battlefield is irrelevant. Work your way up the chain of power before barking at dogs bigger than you.”

Tooru blinks down at him. In the space of the next beat, his lead becomes considerably less aggressive, though it takes him another long, pregnant moment before he can work his mouth into anything.

“Very well, Your Highness,” sighs Tooru, lightly, “I did not mean to start any altercation with you. That is not why I’ve stolen your attention at this time. I’ve orders to carry out.”

Considering the Lord-General is the only person to outrank Tooru, and only as a formality at that, Daichi understandably narrows his eyes.

“Don’t look like that! Not from my mother, no.” Tooru sighs again, somehow put-upon—something Daichi doesn’t deserve. “Not that you’re used to it so far up that chain of power, but when you’ve so many egos of the same rank, you learn to take orders from your fellows.”

“What exactly are you trying to say? Speak straight.”

“I must deliver you to Koushi, since he has something of grave import to speak with you about. In the westward corridor. And then, I must ask for the company of one of your men. The loud one, preferably?”

“Kuroo?” Daichi guesses.

“The one with the dark and wild hair. The handsome one.”

Daichi personally prefers Asahi to Tetsurou, but now is not the time, and frankly, he doesn’t wish to deliver Tetsurou into enemy hands. _Especially_ Tooru’s.

Tooru twirls them, a little too roughly, and Daichi tightens his grip on the man’s hand and shoulder to compensate. “Relax, Your Highness. No harm will come to him. But we need a suitable distraction if a Prince and a General are supposed to sneak away for a moment of privacy, don’t we?”

“…Fine,” Daichi replies, wary. But curious, if he must be honest.

Tooru hardly waits for the song to finish before tossing Daichi into a dip he’s not expecting. He clings to him, undignified and red-faced and irate, and already Tetsurou and Asahi are at his side when they come back up.

“Don’t manhandle our Prince, if you please,” Tetsurou says with a smile as sharp as a knife.

Tooru’s entire appearance lights up at the easy opening. “Then you’ll serve in his place!” he declares with arms open wide.

“M-Me?” Tetsurou repeats, blankly, and Tooru pulls him into the next dance without further warning. Tetsurou goes like a brick of lead—the man never paid much attention to his etiquette training, after all, much less ballroom lessons with Daichi—and Asahi tugs Daichi out of the way in order to avoid getting stepped on.

The ballroom swiftly clears in the same manner, nobility and officers fearing for their safety. Tetsurou, as much as Daichi pities him in this moment, _is_ a sight to behold. He and Tooru grapple for the lead position, and in better circumstances, it may even lead to an entertaining style of dance on its own. As it is, it’s half a heartbeat from an outright brawl instead of a vals, and many of the guards and knights on the periphery shuffle about nervously.

All eyes are on Tooru and Tetsurou.

It’s easy for Daichi to slip away, even from Asahi’s side. (Though yet again, Daichi wonders if Asahi’s dismissal may not be a message in itself. Permission, probably…) Trickier is dodging the guards posted outside the doors, but not impossible. The thrill of sneaking brings him back to his youth, when such things were for the fun of it rather than to try to wait out headaches in the gardens.

He nearly yelps when an arm shoots out of the dim corridor and encircles his. A hand comes to muffle his mouth, too, and Daichi is unceremoniously dragged into a particularly dark alcove between busts of gods long forgotten.

Heart thundering within his ribs, Daichi finds he can recognize Koushi’s breathing pattern even before the man speaks a word.

“Relax, Highness,” Koushi whispers right in his ear, breath hot and tone amused.

Koushi gently releases him, and Daichi turns to face him fully. “What was so urgent we must sneak out of state affairs?” Daichi asks. It comes out a little harsher than he intends, but Koushi’s expression does not register any disappointment.

“I assumed you liked sneaking out.”

“Only when warranted.”

“I think this is warranted,” Koushi says, glancing away—but not out of guilt, so much as uncertainty.

“And _what_ is it? Tooru’s in there, causing a scandal with _my_ guard at this very moment.”

“That sounds like him,” he hums, then tugs at Daichi’s arm again. “Come, I have something to show you.”

Daichi’s willingness does not disturb him as much as it ought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Parting is such sweet sorrow, and Daichi is left with what remains.


	13. blood so sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koushi smiles, wryly. “I worked in a brothel.”
> 
> “So you told me.”
> 
> “I _worked in_ a brothel,” he repeats, with emphasis, and Daichi swallows thickly. “But I also did their numbers. I never lied, but what I gave you made you form assumptions. Half-truths are just as damning as lies, Daichi.”

Though the corridors are darkened to encourage partygoers to seek out the light of the Grand Hall, it’s not impossible to see. This does not account for how surely Koushi moves, tugging him along in his wake, and Daichi nearly stumbles more than once. It is not a long walk, however, and they don’t see anyone else. Daichi wonders at the seclusion.

He expects some quiet room, perhaps a study, dimly lit and somewhere they can discuss in hushed whispers. Discuss what, he doesn’t have the faintest idea, but perhaps Koushi has some late advice or insight for him. One last kindness before he leaves. Perhaps meant to be half an apology for Tooru’s behavior earlier.

Instead, Daichi finds himself pushed into a cramped, firelit room full of bookshelves and cushions. The desk has been pushed into the corner, and it seems several of the shelves have been moved as well; the center of the small room is a sea of plush pillows and a few stolen blankets, and Daichi halts before he falls atop them.

“Whose room is this?” he asks.

“I don’t know, shouldn’t you?” Koushi playfully returns. He pulls on Daichi’s arm again, wading out into the pile of pillows, as if showing him it’s safe. “Someone’s beloved study, but Makki and I were the ones to pilfer all of this.”

Daichi once again takes in the softness of the picture. “I thought you said you needed something urgent,” Daichi says, confused this time.

No matter how he takes in this presented image, he can only think of it as tentatively romantic. Surely suggestive. He knows for a fact halfway down this hall is a better, larger conference room they could use, with chairs and a table and probably an old treaty draft stuffed into the desk if they had need of a reference for something.

Koushi huffs out a sigh and plops down into the cushions below.

“General Oikawa _said_ it was something urgent,” Daichi reiterates with a frown. “Are you still wearing your cuffs? They shouldn’t be off until tomorrow.”

Koushi sighs, again, and this time it’s accompanied by an eye roll and him folding up his sleeves. The magical cuffs remain on his wrists, lined with the same light bruising as before.

“This doesn’t have to be an interrogation. I’d really rather like if it’s _not_ ,” Koushi tells him, and beckons him down until Daichi carefully sits as well. “You’re stressed again, Daichi. I thought we agreed on some stress relief?”

Daichi absolutely cannot help his even more baffled frown this time. “This is the middle of the farewell ball. Of course I’m stressed, your lot are leaving tomorrow, and I still don’t have a treaty to read over, much less sign!”

Tired of the gentle beckoning, Koushi reaches over and _drags_ Daichi forward, until he’s splayed awkwardly across both pillows and Koushi’s legs. He holds him close, even while the Prince struggles and flails to get into some vaguely comfortable position. “And you’re stressed. And yes, this _is_ urgent, because neither of our countries will burst into flames for us sneaking out tonight together, whereas you very well may collapse soon.”

“You’re not my healer,” Daichi grumbles into Koushi’s uniform coat.

“I have a vested interest in your health,” Koushi reminds him. “Your father rather hates us still. You don’t.”

“And?” Daichi prompts.

“And it’s in our best interest if we have positive relations to try to woo you into a treaty,” Koushi admits in defeat. Daichi sits up, and this time the General allows him, though they remain close. The firelight paints Koushi’s copper eyes nearly red; Koushi meets his gaze without fear of judgment. “It’s no secret to anyone that both countries want this treaty. And the Lord-General is going to push for a marriage to tie it all together.”

“And as it’s no secret that I can’t accept that, I find you’re being rather cruel,” Daichi quietly replies.

Koushi still does not look away from him. “I wish I could be kind. You can say no to me, right now or months down the road when we’re trying to sign papers. I… can’t say I don’t care, not anymore, but it won’t break my heart like some poor widower.”

Daichi is the one who breaks their eye contact. He sits back in the pile, sighing heavily, and unfastens his too-starched collar. “I really was unprepared for you or your people, wasn’t I…”

“I’m afraid you were, Daichi,” Koushi replies, amused, though he suppresses his smile. “It doesn’t matter to Setaria if I get attached. But if you do, then we’ve the upper hand.”

“I can’t give up my birthright, _or_ the witch bound to my blood,” Daichi replies as he continues unbuttoning his coat. The room is not warm, but his many layers have been stifling him all evening. To hell with what it means for this situation. He still isn’t sure if he means to have sex in this cozy little room or not, but it _is_ nice to be away from all of the people for just a few moments.

“I don’t envy what’s in store for you,” Koushi says. He still does not move, to draw Daichi close again or to undress himself.

“But you’re taking joy from tempting me, aren’t you?”

“Not joy,” Koushi hedges, but quickly adds, “just amusement. I can’t deny it’s not fun, or rewarding for me, either.”

“How long do the magics holding your tongue last? Any chance some spell will be up at midnight, or dawn?” Daichi asks and shrugs his coat from his shoulders. Koushi tracks the movement.

“Some, years.”

“ _Years_?!”

Koushi laughs helplessly, and can say no more.

Daichi begins unbuttoning his shirt, and Koushi’s eyes remain on him. Daichi slows his movements, and Koushi unconsciously licks his lips. He slows himself even further, going so far as to perhaps put on a _bit_ of a show, and casually asks, “Will any of these magics die off when you begin your journey back north?”

“A few.”

Not helpful. Daichi watches the man watching him, studies the slow clenching and unclenching of his hands against the stiff, dark fabric of his pants. “You always have bruises on your forearms. Did the cuffs not fit properly?”

For some reason, _that_ is what causes Koushi to snap his attention back to Daichi’s face. More strangely, he breaks into a wide, bright grin, then a genuinely happy laugh. “No, they were fine! I’ve actually been trying for the past month to see if I could fit knives underneath them.”

“…Knives?” Daichi repeats, at a loss.

“Originally, they were mine, but I’ve been trying any I could find for the past week. I had wondered if perhaps I couldn’t use the cuffs as some kind of holster. I managed to cut myself fairly badly the second day here, and Makki nearly passed out because he’d thought I’d bleed to death on Amicoran soil.”

“You… _what_?”

“Every single time you’ve asked if I were armed, I was,” Koushi eagerly tells him, leaning forward. “Every night in the gardens. Even on the picnic. Even now.”

Daichi swallows, show completely forgotten. This hadn’t gone as anticipated. “Why are you telling me this, General?” he carefully inquires.

“Because you need to be asking me better questions!” Koushi exclaims like he’s scolding him. “You’ve been _so_ focused on the Lord-General’s motives and whether or not I was trying to seduce you like a common whore that you’ve completely missed the mark on so many other things!”

“Why are you telling me this _now_?” Daichi repeats.

“Because it’s my duty to endear myself to you, _and_ I’m leaving tomorrow. I don’t have to suffer the repercussions of any late realizations of certain Princes if no one finds out before we depart.”

Daichi throws his head back and groans into both hands. Koushi makes a questioning sound. “Don’t pile more onto me _now_! I’d assumed you had other thoughts for dragging me off tonight, not to further muddle my poor head.”

“I could be the best advantage you have in this war of wills,” Koushi seriously tells him, “but I can’t help you with that.”

“Tell me plainly—did you bring me here with the intent to spout more cryptic hints, or seducing me?”

“Are you going to continue undressing for me regardless of my answer?”

Daichi, straight-faced, finishes unbuttoning his shirt. Koushi’s attention returns to every bared inch of skin.

“Alright, yes, I thought it the basest tragedy if I were to leave and not feel your cock again,” Koushi confesses without a whit of shame.

“I’ll remove more clothing for more answers,” Daichi offers.

“I like the intent, and I like the game. But I can’t change what’s been done to prevent me from spilling secrets,” Koushi replies.

Daichi shrugs out of his coat, and leaves his shirt on, if undone. Koushi wets his lips again. Daichi is used to being desired—for his position, for his connections, for his body, it means little to him because someone always wants _something_ from him—so the only real appeal in the situation is that he has all of Koushi’s attention.

With the layer removed, Koushi offers, “These cuffs don’t force the wearer to tell the truth. Only not to lie. That’s a lesson Your Highness really should have learned by now, but I’m not certain he has.”

“Daichi,” he reminds him.

Koushi smiles, wryly. “I worked in a brothel.”

“So you told me.”

“I _worked in_ a brothel,” he repeats, with emphasis, and Daichi swallows thickly. “But I also did their numbers. I never lied, but what I gave you made you form assumptions. Half-truths are just as damning as lies, Daichi.”

Daichi obligingly bares more skin, and fights the distraction of this new example from Koushi. _He did it on purpose_ , he tells himself.

“If you had preferred Tooru, do you know what a mess you would have created for the Lord-General?” Koushi says with no small amount of amusement.

“His tongue is just as quick as yours.” Sharper too perhaps, though Daichi knows not to add that part. “Though I suppose the Lord-General is having one hell of a laugh over trying to force a prince and a whore together.”

“I worked in a brothel. I was never a whore,” Koushi corrects.

Daichi arches an eyebrow.

“You’re making assumptions again,” he replies, and gives him a twirl of his finger. _More off_ , he seems to say, as imperious as any royalty. Daichi pulls his shirt off over his head, and aside from a small shiver, their proximity to the fire is comfortable. Koushi’s eyes on him heat him more than the flames, anyway. Koushi, chin in hand, leers at him without restraint, but probably largely for show as well. He tells him, “I spoke with the Haiba girl searching out alternatives for you. Some forgotten bloodline or far-flung relatives we could borrow to maintain your bloodline. I didn’t find anything concrete, but it would do you good to look into it as well.”

Daichi had briefly thought of some sort of royal adoption, but he knows his family. He doesn’t have any blood near enough that would satisfy public opinion or Koutarou’s oath. “I don’t have any real intention of marrying you, you realize,” Daichi says again with an awkward sort of smile.

“I know, I truly do,” Koushi replies without offense. He shrugs. “But that’s what the Lord-General wants. It’s what we’re aiming to accomplish. It wouldn’t be a bad ending to this, would it? Secure a lasting treaty and peace between the countries.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Daichi allows, “but I won’t see Amicora castrated for it. I’m not giving up my blood.”

Koushi smiles, helpless now, and changes tack. Daichi wonders if that’s as pointed as it seems. “Do you love your father?”

“Pardon?!” Daichi fists his hand in the nearest blanket, nearly drawing it to himself, as if to shield his partial nudity from the very thought of treason. “I thought we were here for something else, General,” he coldly says.

“I’m sorry for overstepping my bounds—” Koushi begins, but the magic catches him and he’s sent face-first into the pillows.

The silence that unfurls between them is long and weighted.

When it becomes clear Daichi is making no move to help him, Koushi says, surprising uncertainty in his tone, “I’m not sorry for that. For the time being, I’m Setarian, and I’ve no fond opinions of the man. It would be very neat if you were to secretly desire a coup.”

“Change the subject, or I’m leaving,” Daichi commands. He wishes he were clothed again, but to start dressing would be seen as some weak retreat. Not that Koushi would judge him—he thinks, wishes to believe—but Daichi’s pride won’t allow it.  

Koushi rolls his shoulders when he sits back up. He doesn’t respond, to acknowledge or to change topic, but instead strips off his own jacket and adjusts his folded-up sleeves. “As a man, I’d much rather just roll around in the pillows with you,” Koushi says with a wistful sigh. “But my better nature realizes that you _are_ stressed, and you’re in a precarious situation. It seems you’re not the only soft one, Daichi. What a pity.”

“What about you?” Daichi asks. It feels like the first time; Koushi looks up at him in surprise like it is the first time. “You’re as much a pawn in this as I am. More so, I’d say, since you’re following the Lord-General’s bidding. You… haven’t seemed happy about that, at times.”

“Isn’t that what life in the military is about? You don’t have to _like_ your orders.”

“Is this that unpleasant for you?”

Surprise, again, but this time edged with desperation. “I like you just fine, Daichi. You don’t have to worry about coercing me into conversation _or_ bed. That’s optional, and both have been something I’ve enjoyed with you.”

Daichi feels the relief of weight leaving him. He isn’t certain he’d been aware of it to begin with.

“Not that a bed has been involved thus far,” Koushi adds thoughtfully. He glances around at the pile of cushions once more. “We’ll have to try to do better, in the future. I’m not as young and spry as _some_.”

“You are three years older than me,” Daichi groans. “The white hair isn’t from some great, old life.”

“But what a difference those few years make,” Koushi responds with twinkling eyes to match his smile.

Daichi is only marginally more comfortable with this topic; he has long tired of how often his father points out his young age and inexperience due to it. Tooru pointing it out again earlier hadn’t made it any better. “General,” Daichi sighs, “did you hope to accomplish giving me a headache again, or something else? I know I can rarely get a straight answer from you, and if I’m asking the wrong questions entirely, then I’m at a loss.”

“That’s fair,” Koushi replies, unbothered. “I had hoped to make a joke or two about consummation while we were on the subject of marriage, but we can stop talking altogether if you prefer.”

Daichi’s annoyance with the conversation topics wars with his appreciation for Koushi’s voice. “You could continue telling me of your prior job,” Daichi offers, only halfway awkward, though his face feels traitorously warm. He’s unused to making these kinds of overtures. He’s _very_ unused to dealing with anyone like Koushi, for that matter.

Koushi just stares at him.

Daichi rubs a hand over his face. His skin is hot, and his voice is strained when he forces out, “The brothel. If you ran numbers, but _also_ did other—nevermind. I’d just rather have sex than spend precious time talking in circles.”

“Think how much could be solved if everyone thought like that.”

“Think of all the bastards,” Daichi replies.

“Blood can be worked around—”

“Except in cases of lineage for royalty.”

“Not every country has royalty,” Koushi points out. He smiles, after, and adds, “And certain royalty right now seems to be acting counter to his words. May I kiss you instead?”

Daichi nods. Koushi crawls toward him on hands and knees, awkward due to the sheer amount of pillows, but his gaze is heated enough to be the only thing Daichi can hope to pay attention to. They come together easily, naturally, _simply_ in a way Daichi is unused to in his life. Nothing between them is simple, of course, but at least they’re both good at pretending this can be.

Koushi’s mouth is soft against his, pliant for the moment. He coaxes Daichi into action with tender invitation. Daichi enjoys the kiss for what it is, for the time being: gentle and unhurried.

Surely the party has noticed the Crown Prince and one of the enemy Generals missing by now. Not even Tooru is that good at distraction tactics. Yet Daichi can’t find it in himself to care about decorum right now, only glad about the fact that the door is locked.

Unbidden, Daichi again thinks of the official portrait of Koushi. He thinks of those flashes of steel he’d seen beneath the warmth and kind smiles. He enjoys the contrast of that to what he has now—it somehow makes this even sweeter—but neither does he forget Koushi’s casual mention of hidden weaponry or his past mentions of danger. There’s no need for Daichi to lose his head over a pretty face and a good fuck.

(He cannot help but wonder if that may have been part of the point Koushi had been trying to prove earlier.)

Koushi settles himself more comfortably into Daichi’s lap, between his legs and with either arm bracketing him. He puts very little of his weight onto Daichi even still. Daichi is the one who tugs him forward, to remind him to relax into this, and Koushi goes, soft and pliant, into his arms.

They wind up laid out before the fire in the sea of pillows. They wriggle around, getting comfortable, and there are bumped noses and shared grins in the process. All of this is easier than Daichi had anticipated. When Koushi holds his tongue, they come together naturally.

They still do, but Daichi cannot focus when secrets bite at his thoughts instead.

They kiss languidly, with soft twining of tongues and even softer nips between. Koushi hardly even smirks—at least not until he begins shifting his hips until he winds up between Daichi’s legs once more. His eyes are copper and flame in this orange light, and his crooked smile crinkles them upward. “Do you know what a happy man I’d be,” says Koushi, “if this is the only thing to ever come of us?”

“Nearly as happy as I, I’d imagine.”

“I never would have taken the Amicoran Prince for a romantic.”

“And I never would have taken a Setarian General for a flirt,” Daichi shoots back with a leer of his own. Koushi chuckles at that, near-silent, shoulders shaking.

Daichi tries to roll them, to gain some semblance of advantage and press it, but Koushi keeps him pinned to the floor with surprising strength. Daichi doesn’t get the chance to ask; Koushi slips down his body, dragging his nails down the exposed skin of his stomach, and settles himself between Daichi’s spread legs. Daichi props himself up on an elbow, then on a pillow.

Daichi lifts his hips to allow Koushi to pull down his pants. The room is warm and Koushi’s heat is warmer, but Daichi still hisses a breath at the exposure. Koushi soothes him with a palm flat against his hip. Daichi is not yet fully roused, but he doesn’t feel embarrassed, nor does Koushi take it as some slight against him, as some might.

Koushi smiles prettily—the image of it is so like their first meeting, that secretive smirk purely for show, that it rather has the opposite effect than likely intended. He leans against Daichi’s thigh, looking all the world like a contented cat.

Daichi still cannot remove himself from that unnerving smile, however, so he reaches down with a tentative hand to brush some of Koushi’s hair back from his face. It serves as a good enough reminder; Koushi’s smile breaks and he opens those kiss-red lips to offer a coy lick. Of course. Everything about the man is coy while he tests the waters.

“You’re a tease,” Daichi says, half frustrated, and half fond.

“I think you like it,” Koushi replies, but he doesn’t continue any sort of playful kitten licks or nuzzling now. He takes Daichi whole into his mouth, running his tongue over the hot flesh. Daichi lets out a sigh and allows his head to drop back onto the pillows behind him.

Koushi isn’t shy with his mouth in this way either, though Daichi refuses to allow his thoughts to wander in the direction of brothels or Koushi’s oh so mysterious past. The here and now is safer, and happier, and he could _certainly_ let himself get used to the talented manner in which Koushi pulls suction into hardness. Soon, Daichi is straining in his mouth, and his breath is quicker and more vocal than before.

Without entirely meaning, Daichi’s hand finds his fetching, starlight hair once more. He doesn’t process that he’s threaded his fingers in it until Koushi is humming around him. Daichi jerks and his exhale comes out near a groan.

Koushi pulls off far enough to let the tip of Daichi’s cock rest against his bottom lip. “I don’t mind if you pull, I like it,” he informs him, a playful spark in his voice that Daichi doesn’t _dare_ look down to see mirrored in his eyes.

He’s not used to such forward, _casual_ speech—most of his partners in the past had tripped over themselves in an effort to please him, but said little of their own pleasures. Daichi rather likes this. But despite himself, it takes Daichi a few tries before he can do anything more than awkwardly pet Koushi.

He _knows_ he’s smiling. He doesn’t dare look.

Daichi fists his hand in the thick hair on the back of Koushi’s head, and the resulting hum of pleasure makes his toes curl. Koushi lines his cock with kisses both wet and filthy, then works his way back up to the head. Daichi sucks in a breath when Koushi takes him deep again, this time down to the root, and slides one hand down under Daichi’s hip to encourage movement. Daichi isn’t certain what to do with this information, other than the fact that his body is _very_ attracted to the idea.

Daichi must shift to try to brace his feet, and Koushi is zero help in any of this—quite the distraction, actually, and clearly enjoying being one. He drags his nails down Daichi’s side, down his thigh, and he would’ve gotten kicked if it weren’t for the way he swallowed rapidly around the cock in his throat. Daichi groans and thrusts, a reflex, and a fairly awkward one at that without any leverage.

To his disappointment, but far better for rearranging limbs, Koushi pulls off of him with a wet, vulgar sound. Daichi cranes his head down to look at him, chest heaving. Koushi’s lips are sticky, and his hair is a wild mess, and the firelight paints him more beautifully than any painter ever could.

“Oops,” is all he says.

“Oops?” Daichi repeats, voice breathless and mind somewhat hazy. It’s not like he finished yet, he doubts Koushi did; the evening is far from ruined.

“I, ah, might have dropped the vial—I did,” Koushi admits. He sits back on his haunches without wiping his mouth, and twists to look amongst the pillows. Daichi sits up with a confused noise. “Well, no sense trying to salvage the mood now, I suppose.”

“I think the mood is still here,” Daichi replies with a pointed look down at his lap.

“No, not that, the—I procured it from the kitchens earlier, since I had this liaison all planned out, and now it looks like I’ve ruined someone’s pillows.” He holds up the victimized cushion, smeared with something slick and glossy. But Koushi grins when he holds up the little colored glass vial of oil with his other hand. “There’s still enough left, but I’m not sitting in the wet spot. Move over, Daichi.”

Without further asking, Koushi shuffles them both over, upsetting the nest and hardly allowing Daichi a moment to ponder all of this premeditation outside of a vague hope he hadn’t terrorized the cooks _too_ much. “You seem to have a lot of plans in what’s supposed to be an evening of revelry and entertainment,” Daichi can’t help but say, and Koushi beams down at him as if nothing is wrong with this.

“You’re far more entertaining!”

Daichi supposes he returns the sentiment, though he has little chance to voice this, as Koushi strips himself of the remainder of his uniform and dumps the rest of the vial’s contents over his hand with little warning. Daichi sits straight, about to politely inquire as to Koushi’s preferences, but Koushi (as usual) preempts him by sitting up on his knees and reaching behind himself.

Daichi reaches out to steady him with a hand on his hip, and Koushi’s mouth curls up at that, but it’s obvious the man can balance himself. Daichi keeps his hand there, anyway, enjoying the hot skin beneath his palm.

When he moves to touch Koushi’s cock hanging between his legs, however, Koushi bats his hand away with his clean one. “You may watch, Your Highness,” Koushi tells him, breathy and rougher than usual.

Daichi rubs his thumb over Koushi’s hipbone. “You’ve planned even this?”

“Stress relief is supposed to be about minimal work, isn’t it?”

Daichi’s response dies in the face of the soft sound Koushi makes in his throat when he inserts another finger into himself. Daichi wishes he could watch—wishes he could _help_ —but he’s caught onto Koushi’s lack of desire to be touched, so he won’t push the man.

Daichi rocks up onto his knees and searches Koushi’s eyes. Pale lashes low and fluttering, eyes as bright as brass, Koushi wets his lips and gives Daichi a small nod. Daichi closes the distance between them again. His hands in Koushi’s hair do not pull this time, but he just holds Koushi, framing his face and guiding the kiss between them.

It’s heated, but slow, a languid, molten exchanging of tongues and teeth. Koushi’s breath hitches and Daichi swallows his small noises, but it isn’t until he lets out a full-blown moan—one of the best things he’s heard from Koushi’s mouth to be sure—that Daichi feels impatience tug at him. This man is frustrating, and teasing, and makes Daichi’s blood boil in ways he doesn’t care to examine. And he _won’t let him touch him_.

“Koushi,” Daichi growls against his mouth, and Koushi’s breathing stutters again from the gravelly sound of it, “I need you. I need to be doing something— _this_ with you.”

“Impatient?” Koushi asks with his mouth curled into a smirk. He doesn’t restrain the low groan nor the cant of his hips that follows. They’re near enough that his arousal bumps Daichi’s thigh, leaving a smear of slick, and Daichi’s own cock twitches at it.

Daichi moves to grasp both their members, but he isn’t certain if he restrains himself or if it’s the fact that Koushi is suddenly pushing at his chest that stops it.

“Down,” he pants, then uses the space between them to bend at the waist, reaching better angles within himself.

Daichi doesn’t move enough, apparently.

Koushi pushes Daichi down into the pillows, pulling his fingers free, and in the most authoritative voice Daichi has _ever_ heard, he orders, “ _Stay down_ , Your Highness.”

As he obligingly lays down, Daichi is absolutely, undeniably, _regrettably_ certain he has never been harder in his life.

Koushi smiles, sweet as sugar.

 

—

 

Daichi isn't sure how long they’re granted rest, only that it’s blessedly comfortable in the pile of messy pillows in front of the fireplace with Koushi in his arms. Worries seem distant when his mind is finally as tired as his body. Koushi is, proven twice over now, quite good at stress relief.

Daichi will miss him.

Not just the sex, not even just the company. He will miss _him_ , as an individual, as a bright spot in Daichi’s dark balancing act of a life.

The Setarian envoy leaves in a scant few hours, and Daichi knows he’s fallen into their trap.

He shuffles closer and presses his face into Koushi’s disheveled hair. He wouldn’t mind falling asleep to this on a nightly basis. Waking up together would be a thrilling novelty. Koushi is clever in ways Daichi could make use of. He’s cheerful, and strong, and talented. In another life, they would make a great pair. It's cruelty to himself to show himself what he'll be denying.

It is truly too bad he’s the enemy.

 

—

 

**END OF ACT ONE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The second act begins.


	14. whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not many would consider a witch an easy or smart object of ire, but few people have the other option being the ruling King of a country. So Koutarou it is.

“You can look me in the eye again anytime,” Daichi tells Asahi.

Asahi continues staring up at the ceiling.

“You’ve seen men nude before. You’ve seen me nude before. We’ve—”

“I didn’t want to see the _General_ nude. And I didn’t want to have to make an excuse on your behalf to your father…!”

“I bet he doesn’t look bad naked,” Tetsurou offers. Daichi butts him back out of the conversation with a glower that have sent lesser men running.

With the enemies gone from the palace, Daichi has no reason to be tailed constantly. Yet here he is, with not one, but _two_ of his trusted, valuable, _annoying_ men at his side. Even Asahi, as fretful as he is, acts like Daichi is going to cause some sort of disaster. Daichi doesn’t even know _what_ they expect of him.

There was little fanfare to the Setarian envoy’s farewells. (Most of those attending were hungover, and obviously so.) Daichi and Koushi were civil. The King and Lord-General didn’t attempt to murder each other with sharp words. Tooru may have still been drunk, but he hadn’t made a fool of himself, at least. No one threw up or collapsed.

They said their goodbyes. Daichi could focus on other things now.

Currently, that meant tracking down the witch who’d embarrassed him at the ball.

“You know, Kenma made a list of things you _should_ be doing to help yourself,” Tetsurou says with overwhelming fondness. “Ways to consolidate power, changes you can make on your own. I could go fetch that, and we could start on it today, since you don’t want to go back to bed for some godawful reason.”

Daichi is running on the restless energy that only the spitefully productive truly know. He _knows_ there are other things to do—hell, he’ll start them today if nothing else goes horribly awry—but that farewell party had been a mess. (The little he’d attended…) Koutarou had embarrassed him, General Ushijima had caused a scene against direct orders, his father had just stood aside and _let_ chaos reign—it’s a minor miracle there hadn’t been bloodshed.

That he knows of.

“ _Koutarou_!” Daichi bellows down the corridor.

The witch appears before him, half-dressed and hat askew. “Hi, Daichi! Okay, came when summoned, _bye_!”

And he disappears before Daichi can order him to stay. This has happened three times now. Daichi has to find where he’s hiding, the weaselly, half-faced, impertinent, magical mammet.

Not many would consider a witch an easy or smart object of ire, but few people have the other option being the ruling King of a country. So Koutarou it is.

“Kou—”

Asahi claps a hand over his mouth, and tells him, “You’re causing a scene.”

Daichi wishes being the Crown Prince actually came with all of the power and freedoms that novels seem to romanticize. He wishes he could go back to the metaphor of running away from a ball, hand-in-hand with—

“Alright, what if you got to yell at someone else?” Tetsurou suggests. Daichi, with Asahi’s hand still covering him, turns his glare upward. “No, I’m serious. If you need to vent, then what if you had another suitable target? Or, we could settle this with something more physical.”

“Isn’t that what got him in trouble last night?” Asahi sighs. He very reluctantly releases Daichi, and Daichi strides ahead of both of them, making his point of what he thinks of their meddling behaviors.

They’re _always_ like this, and he has little patience for that on top of everything else thrown his way. His father may be sans the Lord-General now, but he’s still a threat, and they should be receiving the first formal draft of the treaty in coming weeks. He’s going to end up butting heads with everyone all over again. It’s best if he doesn’t fall behind this time.

“Koutarou is more—” Daichi begins but this time it’s Tetsurou who places a finger against his mouth.

“My lord, I have but two words for you: General Ushijima.”

Daichi falters, then stills.

Fuck, he’s right.

“Fighting with a witch is never a wise course of action, but a general under _your_ command? Who disobeyed a direct order? _There’s_ an easy target for you, one that won’t bite back, either,” Tetsurou adds. He isn’t smug, surprisingly, but rather frank about it all. “You won’t risk alienating him. He’s already firmly in your father’s pocket, not to mention as dense as a brick wall. I doubt he even knows he’s done anything wrong.”

“And it’d be better for Daichi to yell at one of our generals? That’s his military too, you know. The army isn’t half as loyal to the King as the knights are, and General Ushijima is one of the leading figures,” Asahi replies in a quiet, concerned voice. He glances around uneasily, but with the Setarian entourage gone, the palace feels eerily quiet. The staff are quiet, reveling in less chaos and fewer duties, and the King has yet to make any demands of anyone, either.

“Better a man than a witch,” Tetsurou replies, simple as that.

Asahi remains unconvinced, however. “It would be more prudent to simply avoid having a fit in _anyone’s_ direction. I’m sure Morisuke could concoct some sedative. Stars know you need the sleep, Daichi.”

“And then the King thinks we’re holed up to plot against him. Daichi needs to act as usual, and that means losing his temper, doesn’t it?”

“Oi,” Daichi warns, but is ignored by both of his guards. He’s tempted to slip away entirely while they’re distracted. It would hardly be the first time he’s done so.

Wakatoshi would likely be in the Academy this time of day, unless he’d already been requested by someone. Unlikely, since the man wasn’t known for his appealing personality, and there would be nothing so pressing about the war while they’re in a tentative ceasefire. If not the Academy, then training with the knights. He’s a straightforward man, and that means he’s someone easy to find. Easier to find than witches, to be sure.

Daichi is halfway down the corridor before either of his guards notice.

 

—

 

“General!” Daichi barks across the open space of the grand library. Students, aides, and professors all jump at the sound of his voice. Wakatoshi politely raises his head.

He looks tired, with bags under his eyes and an uncharacteristic slump to his normally proud frame. When he gets closer, Daichi can see a startling lack of his usual spotlessness in stubble, wrinkled clothes, and ink stains lining his fingers and forearms. Wakatoshi greets him as impersonally as ever. “My lord, good morning.”

Daichi almost feels a stirring of pity. Wariness, certainly. “I’d like to speak to you, in private.”

“About my conduct last night?” Wakatoshi asks and returns his attention to the maps spread out on the table before him. Daichi hopes they’re Wakatoshi’s, considering they have been scrawled over.

“Are these your field maps?” Daichi asks, curiosity overpowering his own aggravation for the moment. The papers are lined from being folded, and one corner is badly stained by what Daichi is beginning to suspect is old blood.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi replies.

Daichi traces over fronts, and the older lines beneath those. He wonders how old this set is. It’s remarkably well-made and well taken care of. It’s strange to think, but this is one of the closest moments he’s ever directly gotten to the war his own country is embroiled in.

“Did you need something,” Wakatoshi says, glaring at Daichi’s hand when he reaches to smooth out a crease over the Black Forest.

“Your conduct last night was unprofessional, disrespectful, and went against direct orders,” Daichi says, though he’s still distracted by the map. Things are put into a different perspective compared to this. Bloodshed and body counts reduced to colored lines and tiny annotations.

“The orders had been countermanded,” Wakatoshi tells him with the tired air of a man headed to the gallows.

Only one person could override Daichi’s own orders. He sighs, short and tense, through his nose. His jaw aches from grinding his teeth. “You could have used your discretion.”

And now Wakatoshi sighs. “I wouldn’t expect His Highness to understand the matters of war.”

Daichi opens his mouth, simmering anger boiling over yet again, but he doesn’t get the chance.

The ground shakes beneath their feet, and the surprised screams of those in the Academy do not drown out the _boom_ that comes from outside. Books shake free from shelves and slip from tables, but the shaking stops after the initial quake, and the grand library falls silent save for the papers still fluttering.

Wakatoshi has gone ashen and Daichi fears he mimics his expression when they meet each other’s eye.

Both men race from the library. Daichi has only the faintest idea what could have done that, but the thought sits heavily in his stomach, weighted by fear. He hopes he’s wrong. But Wakatoshi is not a man easily unnerved.

Asahi meets them just outside the southwestern doors to the Academy, and he confirms Daichi’s fears. “It’s Tetsurou, he went to speak to Koutarou on your behalf.”

“That _stupid_ —”

“It came from this direction,” Wakatoshi interrupts and hauls Daichi into a sharp turn down a steep set of stairs. Asahi thunders down after them, and when they hit the main floor, the first thing Daichi takes in is sunlight.

It’s bright, pretty this time of the day.

It filters through the dust and ash of the missing wall of the palace.

There are figures in the half-cleared rubble at the end of the broken hall. Windows and mirrors lay broken between Daichi all the way down to them. The first _crunch_ of Wakatoshi’s boot onto glass makes several heads snap toward them—Asahi shoves Daichi behind him at the same time all of the scene freezes in place.

Even the air is still. Daichi fights against invisible bonds, but his strength is only human, and his mouth can’t form any orders to counteract the magic. Asahi and Wakatoshi remain rigid in front of him.

The figures are far enough to be indistinct, but Daichi counts four. One, with dark hair and in the uniform of the guard, is not standing, instead supported by another with dark hair. The one nearest the demolished wall is the tallest, easily identified by the streaked hair and proud frame, but Daichi’s gaze stalls on him a moment too long when he catches the scarlet drenched over him, nearly glowing in the bright daylight.

Four figures. Four, which means—

Daichi hardly catches anything about the fourth figure, but they vanish from sight as soon as he realizes what they must be.

Kenma vanishes a moment later, and Tetsurou is dropped. His groan is loud enough to ring down the corridor. The magic releases its hold on them, and Daichi is the first to stumble forward to them. Asahi catches him by the arm, and Wakatoshi, once freed, draws his pistol.

Koutarou waits for them, covered in blood and with Tetsurou laying prone at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says as soon as they’re near. No longer does he hold himself up with pride and strength, but there’s a telling droop to his shoulders and, despite being silhouetted by the sun, his expression is miserable. “I’m sorry, Daichi.”

“What have you done?” Wakatoshi demands, pistol aimed at Koutarou’s head. Daichi knew he was a man of considerable nerve, but rarely does someone get the chance to demonstrate it so clearly.

Koutarou doesn’t respond.

“That is one of the Prince’s personal attendants, and you’re covered in—” Wakatoshi cuts himself off when they all notice that both of Koutarou’s arms end in stumps where his hands should be.

Asahi steps back, hand clapped over his mouth, and Daichi steps between him and the sight. “Get Tetsurou,” he orders, and Wakatoshi picks his way over stone and glass to kneel beside him.

“He’s alive,” Wakatoshi confirms after a moment. “Unconscious.”

“I’m sorry,” Koutarou repeats. His blood drips onto the dusty carpet.

Asahi makes a noise deep in his throat, halfway between clearing it and gagging, and Daichi wishes he could order him to leave. Wishes he could spare him this. But without knowing what’s happened, he can’t. Wakatoshi lifts Tetsurou with practical gentleness, movements slow and careful this close to Koutarou.

“What in dark hell is all this?!”

The King, flanked by both knights and two of his personal advisors, storms down the stairs from the connecting corridor. No one moves. Daichi’s heart thunders in his ears as his father approaches them.

 

—

 

“This isn’t fair!” Daichi roars at his father.

“There’s a _hole_ in our palace, Daichi! Someone must be responsible!” his father shouts back, right in his face.

They stand face-to-face, toe-to-toe, yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. Their fights aren’t rare, but shouting matches are, and nothing has ever caused Daichi to lose his temper to this degree. “You think _Tetsurou_ is responsible?! Tetsurou is a human, he didn’t blow out a wall and injure Koutarou!”

“We all know he’s temperamental! What else do you think could have sparked such emotional response?!” the King snarls.

They both know what this actually had been: a fight between witches.

But Daichi isn’t supposed to know about them, and his father will not spill his secrets now, even with actual blood spilt. He’s mad with fear and rage and the thought of losing either his son or his witch. Daichi cannot point out Kenma or the other witch—even as need burns through him at the thought of shaking some answers out of the man before him—without sacrificing one of the only edges he has.

So Koutarou takes the fall. And so does Tetsurou.

“These men of yours are supposed to be _yours_. You’re too lax on them, and look at where that’s gotten us!” the King says through a clenched jaw. “If that street stray were better trained, he wouldn’t be gallivanting around with witches, now would he?”

“This isn’t Tetsurou’s fault! You’re so quick to lay the blame on the feet of _my_ men, but what about—” Daichi bites his tongue too late.

“What about _what_? I’ve done nothing but fix your mistakes this past month, Daichi,” his father points out with narrowed eyes and a deepening scowl. “That woman Nanashi is a snake, and you were playing tea party with her _children_ during the entire time.”

“My peace talks have nothing to do with what the Court Witch did today,” Daichi growls.

“No, it didn’t,” he allows. He spares Daichi a long, hard look. Daichi meets his eye without faltering.

The King gestures one of his advisors forward. This one, Daichi always remembers the name of, if only for the constant fighting Daichi strives to prevent: Suguru offers the King a sheaf of papers without a single glance in Daichi’s direction.

Without looking at it himself, the King hands the papers to Daichi. “Your treaty,” he says tonelessly.

For one moment, Daichi wishes he could tear this up if it means he could spare Tetsurou. Horrified with himself, horrified at his cowardice for both allowing this to happen and the thought of sacrificing everyone just to save a single man.

With shaking hands, he holds the treaty draft left by Setaria.

His father means to placate his anger with this. Give Daichi a distraction so he doesn’t lose his temper over the loss of today. The tension on the papers increase as Daichi’s hands strain against them.

“I know you like to play at friendship, even with witches, but you can’t forget they’re weapons,” his father says, gently. “And you can’t get overly attached to any of your servants. Most importantly of all, you must remember that your subjects come first, Daichi.”

Of course they do—he’d just entertained the thought of ruining a treaty to end a war in the name of sparing someone.

The King turns to leave him, and Daichi realizes he can’t take a swing at him with the treaty in his hands. He stands there, ineffectual, and gains nothing.

 

—

 

“Men survive whippings,” the cook says, sympathy deep in her voice. It’s genuine. It’s not some put-upon airs like most of the court.

Shirofuku, her unmarried name. He’s too embarrassed to ask her given name. “I would ask if it were quieter without the Setarians here,” Daichi says into the marble of the countertop, “but today…”

“My kitchens are nowhere near the Academy,” Shirofuku says with a hand on his shoulder. He’s glad for her reserved kind of familiarity, now.

He’s too ashamed to speak to Asahi or Tetsurou. He’s too frightened to look at the Lord-General’s treaty draft. He wishes he could just work in a kitchen, and have a quiet little family on the side, and do honest, simple work. Cooks didn’t have to worry about intrigue or lies or blood oaths. Cooks could choose who to marry, and what sort of events to attend, and where they would like to live.

They couldn’t stop wars, though.

“Are you hungry yet, my lord?” she gently asks.

Daichi shakes his head.

The main doors to the kitchens are thrown open with the force of a gale.

Kenma strides in, eyes blazing, magical heat coming off him in waves. Daichi raises his head; he hadn’t gotten drunk, expecting him, but sobriety is little preparation for a mad witch. “I did what I could,” Daichi tiredly tells him.

“Oh, you’re…?” Shirofuku looks between them, confused by Kenma’s lack of state dress and Daichi’s casual air. “You’re the one Tetsurou likes, aren’t you?”

Kenma falters, just the briefest moment.

“There’s no cause for alarm, Morisuke is a very good healer,” Shirofuku says with a firm little nod that’s twice as reassuring as her words. She grips Daichi’s shoulder and adds, “And the Prince would protect his men. His Majesty sees cause for punishment, but it’s not the end of the world, you two.”

Daichi _sincerely_ likes this woman. He almost smiles.

“I,” Kenma stiffly announces, “came to apologize.”

“I’ll make more tea,” the cook offers at once and bustles off to allow them some semblance of privacy. Kenma watches her go out of the corner of his eye, and shuffles closer to Daichi without turning from her.

“How is he? The healer barred Asahi and I from the room,” Daichi says, and Kenma, impossibly, becomes more downcast.

“He’s fine,” he mumbles, “but he’s just… joking. A lot. It’s uncomfortable to watch.”

That sounds like Tetsurou. “It’s one of his charms,” Daichi tries, but Kenma doesn’t seem endeared to this personality quirk. “I assume he’s been told, then?”

“His Majesty visited him and informed him. Tetsurou accepted it,” Kenma says, frustrated now, and Daichi keeps careful eye on the way he balls his hands into small fists. “He accepted a whipping for _you_. To keep my cover, but it’s for you. He didn’t seem fazed at all…”

That still sounds like Tetsurou. Daichi glances back to see Shirofuku on the far side of the kitchens, busying herself prodding the fire and pretending to check on the kettle. Kenma doesn’t appear to mind her, but Daichi is not feeling particularly charitable toward witches right now. He keeps an eye on her. He still hasn’t heard an actual apology from Kenma, either.

“I know your circumstances are unique,” Daichi says, neutral and conversational, though Kenma subtly comes to attention, “but _I_ am the Prince and Tetsurou is my man. He knows what the risks are when it comes to things such as this. He knows what it means to serve the crown.”

The unspoken _do you?_ hangs heavily between them.

“I’m here to serve the crown,” Kenma replies, just as evenly. “Which certain Princes ought to realize they do not yet wear.”

“I thought you said execution was a pain,” Daichi says in a whisper.

“I know better than you that some things are worth dying for, Your Highness,” Kenma replies, just as quiet. He steps closer, into Daichi’s space, and despite his stature, his presence overwhelms. Daichi can’t look away from the swirling, glinting gold of his eyes. When he puts it on Daichi’s knee, Kenma’s hand is icy even through the fabric of his trousers. “I serve the crown as I am bound to do,” Kenma hisses at him, “but keep in mind that I am not _yours_.”

Kenma’s nails are suddenly sharp against him, and just as suddenly, a _leg_ sticks itself between them.

Daichi and Kenma both reel away from each other (Daichi nearly falls off his stool entirely), and he turns to find Koutarou sitting on the countertop with one leg extended. He offers them a razor-sharp grin. “Going to cut that off, too, for doing my duty?”

Shirofuku lets out a little scream at his sudden appearance. Kenma swiftly ducks his head, letting his loose bangs hide his face, and Daichi tries to regain his composure. “Koutarou,” he says with false pleasantry, “good evening.”

“G-Go-Good evening, Lord Witch!” Shirofuku stammers, carefully keeping her distance.

“He can have my tea,” Kenma mumbles and makes for the door. Koutarou glares at him the entire way, and Daichi in turn stares at the scabbed-over stumps where his hands ought to be.

Kenma never did apologize.

“Sorry for avoiding you earlier,” Koutarou says as soon as the doors swing shut behind Kenma. He crosses one leg over the other in a strangely dainty manner. “And sorry for pushing you at the ball. The King looked upset that you were staring so much, so I had to intervene before he did something. You handled it pretty well!”

Daichi doesn’t appreciate the compliment. “What happened today?”

Koutarou ignores him. He gestures with hands he no longer has. “I don’t like it when you’re mad at me, but, well, I suppose I’ve fucked that one up now, too! I won’t get into any more fights, and I’ll stay out of your way. Just be careful around other witches, alright?”

“Kou—”

“I can’t handle your affection right now. I don’t deserve it! Just go read your damned treaty and _don’t_ call for me again!” Koutarou disappears, but not fast enough for Daichi to miss the frustrated tears glimmering in his gold eyes. Despite the grab Daichi makes for him, the witch leaves, and he’s left in the quiet kitchens.

“You’ve grown up with colorful friends,” the cook says mildly.

Daichi is left with two teacups and nothing to say to her.

 

—

 

Daichi wonders what Tetsurou felt when he watched Daichi being flogged.

Daichi stands at attention, flanked by knights and a handful of nobles silver-tongued enough to squirm their way into attendance for such a dark event. He refuses to wear his coronet today, and will not look in his father’s direction. He doubts the man has glanced in his, either.

Daichi catches sight of Morisuke, arms crossed and boot tapping, on the far side of the square. (Daichi also glimpsed a figure seated on the cathedral roof, but he couldn’t tell at that distance which witch it had been. At any rate, there had only been one up there.)

Asahi, of course, is not present. He is never present at whippings.

There is no conflict of interest this time, so the Captain of the Royal Guard steps up to administer punishment—although Tetsurou is no knight and no military man.

Whippings are bloodier than Daichi had anticipated.

“We’ve only one witch,” Daichi hears his father saying to some simpering court woman, “and this man endangered him. Who knows what could happen if Amicora were to lose something so important to our nation’s defense?”

Afterward, when a half-delirious Tetsurou is hauled into the healer’s offices—in the farthest wing, but the King had insisted on holding the punishment in the half-public courtyard to the cathedral—Daichi and Asahi wait by his bed while Morisuke smears poultices and works magic over his bloodied back.

Daichi waits until he thinks Tetsurou is more or less aware before he pulls the sheaf of papers from his bag and begins reading the treaty aloud.

With Daichi clinging desperately to the power two volatile witches offer, and with all of them marked as targets by the King, they have little choice other than trusting the healer. Morisuke doesn’t comment on this, nor does he try to excuse himself for the sake of privacy; he only offers small comments from time to time, just as Asahi does. Tetsurou doesn’t speak. Perhaps he’s unconscious again after all.

“The reparation rates for the Black Forest are shockingly generous,” Asahi murmurs, glancing over one of the pages Daichi has already read.

“What they’re asking for the Icholly River Valley isn’t terrible, either. For Setarian scum, this is all very fair,” Morisuke agrees, just as quiet.

Daichi makes it through renewed trade, reparations, and all of the ceasefire and pulling of military forces before he gets to the section on the wedding. He thinks the Lord-General a sadist for making him wait so long. Her use of language is surprisingly flowery, given what he’s seen of the woman, but direct enough that it does not worsen his headache by trying to slog through it.

 

_And for the benefit of both nations as well as their ruling powers, a betrothal between the Most Esteemed Highness Crown Prince Daichi of Amicora and Brigadier General Sugawara of the Blue Western Army will occur. This will signify a lasting union between countries, a sincere commitment to peace, and demonstrate to future generations these promises._

 

“You seem surprised,” Morisuke remarks, one brow raised. “I was under the assumption you _knew_ this was going to be part of the peace treaty. Or were you fooling around with General Sugawara for unrelated reasons?”

“Discretion,” Asahi reminds him.

“No, I knew about that,” Daichi replies. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize the Generals had ranks among themselves.” Brigadier General, huh? Daichi had striven to maintain decorum and do his research on the visiting Generals, but he sincerely did not recall anything about divided ranks among the council members.

“They probably don’t publicize differing ranks,” Asahi says. “It wouldn’t look good for the unity they try to convey.”

Daichi wonders if this is related to the disrespect the Lord-General had shown to Koushi. He scans through the rest of the section on the marriage offer—it’s nothing shocking. Koushi would become a Duke of Amicora, then later Prince Consort, and would hold only an honorary title with Setaria from then on. (Daichi, amusingly, would be given an honorary title as well in Setaria, something he hadn’t thought of.)

No outright clauses or mention of children. They’re likely hoping to gracefully sidestep the issue and make Daichi deal with giving up his birthright.

The following section gives Daichi pause. He’s nearing the end of the long treaty, and he’s grateful for it, but this is the last full section before closing remarks and summaries, and it’s only titled _Reparations (cont’d), Blood_.

“Blood reparations?” Asahi asks sharply.

“Why’d they divide it up after everything else?” Morisuke asks.

As Daichi reads, he finds out, and he wishes he’d torn up the papers when he’d had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi fell for it. Daichi fell for the twin mistakes of trusting in his enemies and trusting in his allies. Now, to fix things.


	15. reparations (cont'd), blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Would you like a list of how many Generals of her own she’ll kill in the name of spite? Or have you done the research yourself?” the King asks without malice or venom.

“My father… already read over this,” Daichi says, unbelieving. His own voice sounds far away, as if a suffocating layer of wool has fallen over the world. “My father is already aware of this.”

His father hadn’t warned him about the Lord-General, and he hadn’t warned him of the contents of the treaty.

His father had not given him the treaty yesterday to placate him. He had given this to him in hopes of directing Daichi’s rage not at himself, but at Setaria. Their enemies.

Koushi had told him Daichi had no idea what the Lord-General had been planning, and naturally, he’d been right. As he had been, all along.

 

_Reparations (cont’d), Blood_

 

_Outside of costs and reparations to be paid for specific events and injuries caused by both parties as mentioned in previous clauses, there is to be no monetary exchange or payment to be made by either the nation of Amicora or the nation of Setaria upon the closure of the war. All costs outside of those outlined in previous clauses will be handled by each country at each country’s discretion._

_To preserve the gravity of the cost of the war, and to hold responsibility to those at fault for the war, blood reparations will be made in lieu of further monetary payments._

_Any member of the ruling class, nobility, senior advisory staff, military rank of General or above, or in a quantifiable leadership position for any longer than a period of half of the war’s duration will be put to death for war crimes._

 

Daichi reads the last sentence again and again.

Half the war’s duration. That’s seven years. He doesn’t know offhand what this means for Setaria, and he doesn’t _care_ —Daichi knows what this means for Amicora. Many of the senior advisory and officer posts are lifetime appointments, and early retirement is not something any true Amicoran would pursue. How many would they lose?

His father.

 _His father_.

The Lord-General had been planning this from the start. She’d _hoped_ he’d get his feet tangled in the drama of an unwanted betrothal, and he had, damn him. Who cares for his birthright when Daichi’s country is left maimed and weak?

 _She’s forcing a coup for me_ , Daichi realizes.

Setaria had never lied about pursuing peace, nor had anyone _lied_ about planning a coup. It was built into the damned _peace treaty_. They didn’t have to do a thing.

And Daichi’s father had already read this. He knows that Daichi desires this, desires peace and a treaty and an end to the violence, but what must he think _now_? Does he truly think his own son would try to sacrifice his father to gain this?

But—hadn’t he just thought that one man is not worth an entire country?

“My lord, you’re trembling. Here, sit down.” The healer guides him into a chair, but Daichi hardly notices. The papers are clenched and wrinkled in his grasp.

“Daichi,” Asahi says, soothingly, and tries to pry the papers from his hands. “Daichi, my prince, _please_. All hope is not lost from a single _draft_.”

“She played me,” Daichi says numbly. “She played me for a fool. She distracted me with pretty faces and flowery weddings and _this_ is what she was after.”

“You realize that it would catch her, too, right?” Morisuke says. Daichi looks up at him, and he adds, “Half or more of the war’s duration. She’s been on the Council since the start of it, or thereabouts. I’m certain there’s more old shits on the Council, too, so they would be suffering this as well. She’s bluffing. Forgive me, my lord, but she knows you’re soft, and you wouldn’t accept this.”

“Then why put it into the treaty draft at all? Spite? To create _more_ tension between the countries?” Asahi replies. He only then succeeds in freeing the treaty from Daichi’s quaking grip.

“Not between the countries,” Morisuke grimly replies, “but between royals.”

 

—

 

“Would you like a list of how many Generals of her own she’ll kill in the name of spite? Or have you done the research yourself?” the King asks without malice or venom. Professor Nekomata sits at his right side, hunched in his robes and wearing an uncharacteristically dark expression.

“Five,” Daichi replies.

“Exactly half,” his father agrees with a hum. “Including herself, of course. She’s hoping to appeal to your better nature and eagerly awaits passionate rebuttals and defenses, I’m sure. No doubt that will be just another step in whatever schemes she has.”

His father seems entirely unconcerned at the prospect of a treaty calling for his death. Daichi has done the research, yes, not only on their enemy, but also their own. The King and most of his cabinet—all but _two people_ —would qualify. Almost two-thirds of their Generals qualify, as well as the current Captain of the Royal Guard. Daichi isn’t certain yet what constitutes ruling nobility, since only the King reigns, but already the court is in a tizzy of poorly smothered panic.

He already knows who carefully leaked this, of course. The King wants to turn opinion further against Setaria, and this is an easy way in which to do it.

Daichi watches Professor Nekomata’s lined face. He isn’t sure what qualifies as senior advisors, either—how much will the Academy suffer?

Amicora would be crippled.

New people could be appointed, yes, though it would be a nightmare. But none would have the experience, and all of those ranks at once toppled and replaced?

“Does our Court Witch count in this?” General Ukai asks, glaring down at the treaty draft. (He would die.)

“There’s no mention of witches, and our Court Witch has a rank independent of the knights or military,” Professor Yachi replies. (She would die.)

“The Lord-General would have mentioned it, wouldn’t she?” Professor Nekomata says, sighing, and leans back in his chair so he can massage the deep furrow in his brow. (He would die.)

“You’re missing the obvious,” the King’s secondary advisor explains, not loud, but pointed enough that most turn to pay attention to him. Suguru gestures as rudely as politely possible in Daichi’s direction. “With no blood heir, we lose Koutarou in a few decades, anyway. Setaria only has to wait us out. They don’t want to address witches in the treaty because they’d be forced to admit to their own use of them.”

(He wouldn’t die.)

All eyes are on Daichi. “I’m not accepting this treaty,” he forces out. He clenches and unclenches his fists to try to keep himself from raising his voice. “We’re changing the marriage stipulations _and_ the blood reparations.”

“Don’t ever fight a war on two fronts,” General Ukai dryly advises. “She won’t back down from both topics. If nothing else, she’s going to force you into one of them, probably the marriage, and we still face losing our key defense in a generation.”

“What if we killed General Sugawara?” General Ushijima asks with his usual lack of tact. (He wouldn’t die.)

Professor Yachi rubs her temple. “You can’t just _say_ that, Wakatoshi…”

“We’re all thinking it,” the Captain of the Royal Guard mutters. (He would die.)

“Wait a few years, and then an accident befalls him. Prince Daichi is free to marry someone who can give him an heir,” Takurou says with a cruel leer in Suguru’s direction. The two advisors glower at one another. (He would die.)

The King calmly meets Daichi’s eye across the table, ignoring the growing bickering, and the man looks utterly calm. Bored, even. He rests his cheek on his fist, elbow on his ornate chair, and seems to _wait_ for something else.

 _Does he expect me to defend Koushi?_ Daichi wonders, but no, his father doesn’t think _that_ poorly of him. _Does he expect me to offer an alternative?_ Daichi has yet to truly process this much information, much less think his way out.

His only option is to redraft the treaty, sans the problematic sections, and send it back. It will send a political message, and then he’ll await the fallout. _That_ will be more telling than anything else, how the Lord-General reacts, but it’s a waiting game Daichi dreads. He has no alternatives to offer the King or Lord-General.

 

—

 

“Remember when I used to sneak into your bed?” Tetsurou asks, quiet in the night. Daichi hums an agreement. It had been a large portion of his adolescence. “Heh, brings back some fond memories. I seem to recall more room back then, though…”

“Don’t complain,” Daichi says and nudges him with his knee. There’s quite a lot of room, actually, it’s just that neither man is particularly small. (In particular, Tetsurou tends to sprawl those long limbs of his _very_ freely.) Tetsurou is confined to sleeping on his stomach, but while he needs the rest, sleep has been sporadic and too light.

Daichi wishes he could help.

His own whipping hadn’t been so severe, he knows that now. But it hadn’t just been a matter of the Crown Prince getting whipped; Asahi and Tetsurou hadn’t left his side. Fretful, like mother hens.

Like the mother Tetsurou had spent so much time in his bed trying to replace.

“What will you do about the treaty?” Tetsurou asks.

“I’ve made the necessary corrections, but I’m going over possible replacements with Father and some of his advisors tomorrow,” Daichi replies with a weary sigh. “All in all, it’s a fair treaty, outside of those two clauses.”

“An end to the war,” Tetsurou muses. When he shifts, his leg brushes Daichi’s, and Daichi moves to make room for him. Tetsurou happily takes the extra space. “We’d only have to give up our royal line and only bloodbound witch to do it.”

They haven’t spoken about Koutarou yet. This is the closest Tetsurou has gotten to that. Daichi holds his breath, but Tetsurou doesn’t follow that line of thought.

“Do you think they even realize how bad it is? They don’t have royalty anymore, after all, maybe they just don’t _realize_ ,” Tetsurou says thoughtfully.

“You know the Lord-General knows _exactly_ what this is doing to us,” Daichi replies. Tetsurou makes a sleepy, agreeable sound. “I can only wonder if she means it out of spite, or if this is yet another step in something worse.”

“A coup and her greatest enemy castrated,” Tetsurou says, “or something _worse_ … I’m in the better position between us, hm?”

Daichi lets out a single snort of utterly humorless laughter. “Don’t make me hit you. Neither of us could take that, so hold your tongue for once in your life.”

Tetsurou huffs and settles in deeper to the plush bed. His leg knocks against Daichi’s _again_ , but he’s running out of room to share, and this is _his_ bed. “If it’s all the same to you, my lord, I think I’ve finally learned my lesson on meddling. The next time I move, it will be by your hand.”

“It only took…” Daichi trails off.

Tetsurou doesn’t seem bothered. “Yeah.”

Daichi shifts, rolling onto his side, and studies Tetsurou’s unruly hair. His face is turned from him. As much as he’d prefer to coddle him, they both know he can’t, so Daichi must ask, “What will become of you and Kenma?”

“Kenma isn’t the one I’m concerned about,” Tetsurou quietly replies. Then, he sighs, and adds, “Kenma hasn’t spoken to me since then, but he has snuck in to visit me more than once. I don’t believe this will alienate him. …If anything, it probably proves just what we’re up against.”

“Are you _up against_ him?”

“No, no, I’ve not made an enemy of the little witch,” Tetsurou replies in a harassed voice. When he turns, shifting just enough to face Daichi yet not aggravate his wounds, he’s scowling quite darkly. Daichi raises both brows. Tetsurou exhales through his nose and pretends to be distracted by fluffing his pillow when he says, “I rather feel like a piece of meat tossed between territorial dogs. I’ve had time to get used to Kou, but I’m now wondering if maybe that time was just dulling my feelings toward witches.”

“You may be the only man in any country who’s been accused of being soft on witches,” Daichi tells him, not unkindly.

“If Kenma’s keen on me, then Kou’s always been keen on you,” Tetsurou shoots back with a leer.

“He’s doing his duty to my blood, not _me_ ,” Daichi retorts.

“…What will you have me do, my lord? If they make me choose between them. If they get into further fights. I’ve accidentally become quite the chess piece for you to move about this board, hm?”

“I am already losing the game against the Lord-General, so I don’t want to imagine rogue queens on the board,” Daichi dryly replies.

“Only temporarily set back. You’ll bounce back—you always do, Daichi.”

 

—

 

The morning brings the most unexpected surprise, and it is (pleasantly) not the fact that Tetsurou’s bled all over the sheets.

In the process of detangling themselves from the bed—Tetsurou has always been the most _awful_ sleeper, forcing Daichi to remember why he refuses to share a bed with the man anymore—and after Tetsurou has managed to fall out of bed and reopen several of his wounds, a fretting Asahi finds a letter.

“This has a Setarian seal on it,” Asahi realizes aloud, freezing in place with the innocuous letter half-crumpled in his grasp.

“Don’t mind me,” Tetsurou says from the floor. “I’ll be bleeding again. I’m sure this won’t scar horribly, and then Kenma won’t be so endeared, then everything will fall to pieces—”

“Is that a _General’s_ seal?” Daichi asks, kneeling on the bed in order to look over Asahi’s shoulder.

Tetsurou huffs.

“I believe it is,” Asahi whispers. With Daichi’s nod, he opens it. It’s a mere two pages, crumpled from where it’d been hidden in the bed and Asahi’s own nerves. Daichi cannot read it perfectly from this angle, and the handwriting is unfamiliar to him, but Asahi scans downward on the second page and tells Daichi what he wants to know. “It’s signed Koushi.”

Daichi’s heart trips over in his chest, both from elation and dread.

Tetsurou hauls himself up, grimacing, and unrepentantly uses one of Daichi’s sheets to press against his back with a hiss. “That was left in the _bed_? He could’ve left it with a servant. Let’s see what was so private. Read it for us! Daichi, call the damned healer or I’m going to smear this dirty blood all over you.”

Daichi doesn’t appreciate getting ordered around by his own advisor, but he does slide out of bed, and head toward the door to call someone, just as Asahi clears his throat and begins reading.

“ _To my Most Favorite member of Amicoran royalty, His Highness the Crown Prince Daichi_ ,” he starts, and Tetsurou snickers despite the pain. Daichi’s face heats up. That sounds like Koushi already. “ _I hope you’ve found this letter before my next arrives. I have hidden it beneath your pillows, as the master strategist I am. Also, for your personal education, while writing with these magicked cuffs does prevent outright lying, the rules are far more lax. I also do not have to correct any lies in writing - I can say them aloud. Please keep this at the forefront of your mind with any further correspondence, should truth-telling magics be used again._ ”

“How helpful,” Tetsurou drawls, “unless you can completely lie and he’s talking out of his ass.”

“No, he wouldn’t do that,” Daichi replies before ducking out into the hall. It’s little matter to flag down one of the guards posted outside, but more of a concern to convince them to find the healer instead of informing unnecessary parties.

Asahi continues reading inside; Daichi can hear him through the open door. “ _You will likely find this letter before you read the Lord-General’s draft of the treaty. I cannot say anything about that here, but I feel you should know that I have known all along what the Lord-General’s plans are. Setaria earnestly wants peace. But peace rarely comes without bloodshed. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for this._ ”

“How sweet,” Tetsurou growls.

“If he’s telling the truth, it’s actually very kind of him. If utterly useless to us at this point,” Asahi sighs. There’s the rustling of paper. “Why leave this letter, though? It’s… rather sentimental, isn’t it?”

“One last attempt at some feelings before Daichi reads the treaty? He’d assumed he would read this first.”

 _That’s not it_ , Daichi thinks, glaring hard at the retreating figure of Takanobu as he departs down the hall. _It could be actual sentimentality…_ He cannot help but think of their last night shared together. Surely some of the warmth shared between them had been genuine. Daichi can’t believe otherwise at this point.

But to say that aloud would only invite teasing.

“ _I did not leave this for you as a matter of our public personas. I did not leave this with anyone else for fear of it appearing as something official - my intentions are far from that_ ,” Asahi reads, and Daichi smiles to himself before ducking back inside. “ _I seal this as General Sugawara of Setaria, but I write this as Koushi, a man who has come to sincerely appreciate your company. Though it may be many months before we may see each other once again, it is with all fondness that I will recall the feel of—_ ” Asahi cuts off with a strange _grk_ kind of sound.

Tetsurou leans forward, then winces. Asahi’s face slowly reddens, and Tetsurou’s grin widens at the same pace. “Well, don’t leave off _there_ , man. What a cliffhanger!”

Daichi, distracted by the blood sliding down Tetsurou’s back as well as the familiar sentiment expressed in Koushi’s words, doesn’t quite realize the danger as quickly.

Asahi sighs, despairing, and _regretfully_ continues reading. “ _…it is with all fondness that I will recall the feel of your cock in my hand and your moans on my tongue_ —”

“That’s enough!” Daichi barks.

Tetsurou falls off the bed again with his abhorrent cackling.

When Morisuke arrives, Asahi is helping apply pressure with Daichi’s ruined sheet, and Daichi growls at the unimpressed healer, “Don’t bother relieving his pain, just stop him from bleeding all over my bed.”

Morisuke doesn’t question this, nor does he question the redness in Daichi’s cheeks as he _privately_ finishes reading the letter.

 

—

 

“You can do better than _that_!” Yui shouts at him, grinning hard, and waves her sword to punctuate her taunt.

Daichi shakes the sweat from his face, but when he goes to wipe his eyes, Yui strikes again. She leaps forward with a thrust of her sword, and the edges aren’t dulled enough that Daichi willingly wants to let this happen. He scrambles back, ungainly, and she doggedly pursues. He raises his own sword rather belatedly.

Metal _clangs_ against metal, but while Yui is better trained and faster, at least Daichi has size and strength on her. She cannot push him back.

She can, however, swipe at his legs, and the next time he backpedals, she hooks her foot around his ankle.

Daichi falls on his ass, and Yui stands over him, grinning even more brightly now. “You’ve gotten rusty, Highness,” she tells him with no small amount of glee.

“He’s been distracted this past month,” Asahi says around the ribbon for retying his hair. “Forgive him.”

“Pretend I’m Setarian, then,” Yui replies and cocks her hip out to the side. She tosses her short hair, grimy with sweat and dust, and bats her eyes. “Don’t you want to drive your sword through me now?”

Tetsurou laughs horribly from his spot in the shade.

“I remember when the crown used to mean something,” Daichi grumbles as he gets back to his feet. He dusts himself off and pretends to test the balance of his practice sword in a bid to seem unaffected.

“You don’t yet wear it,” Asahi reminds him, somber.

They all tense, subtly, but Yui is the only one who blatantly looks around. She may be a knight, and the knights may make no secret of their collective allegiance, but everyone knows who she is partial to. (Perhaps more than partial, if rumors are anything to go by.)

“So,” she says, too loudly, “how is the treaty going with our northern friends-to-be?”

“We’ve made adjustments to the draft sent to us,” Daichi vaguely replies.

“We’re waiting on the Council’s response now. They’re probably not even back yet,” Asahi says. “Depends how good their time is. It’s not a quick trip to the Setarian capital.”

“You’ve actually been there, haven’t you?” Yui asks curiously. She drops her stance, sword held loosely at her side, and Daichi wishes he had less honor, so he could take advantage of her distraction.

“Not to the capital!” Asahi hastily replies, shuddering at the very thought. “My company went north, yes, but we never made it _that_ far.”

“If we’d made it that far, we wouldn’t need a treaty,” Daichi mutters.

“Setaria doesn’t have that much attachment to anything, not even their capital. They’d let the city burn,” Tetsurou calls over.

When Daichi glances over, Tetsurou is still in his spot, reclining on his blanket in the shade, but he has been joined by a certain quiet errand boy, sitting beside him with his legs delicately tucked beneath him. Daichi takes a deep breath and does his best to ignore his presence. Tetsurou will call if he needs help.

“I’ve heard it’s pretty,” Yui says, not diplomatic, but wistful. She’s the only one among them who hasn’t gotten to travel; Daichi travels between the capital and the other royal palaces, Tetsurou came from the south, and Asahi had military movements to live through. Sometimes, Daichi is surprised that Yui hadn’t enlisted in the army, with her disposition and determination, but he’s rather glad at the same time. She’s a talented knight, and a friendly, familiar face here, and Daichi knows what demons Asahi carries with him.

“Maybe you’ll get invited to the wedding,” Tetsurou says.

When Daichi turns to glare at him now, his head is pillowed in Kenma’s lap, and the witch is running his fingers through his thick hair.

“What are you going to do?” Yui asks. She doesn’t have an ill-meaning bone in her body, but Daichi still cringes inwardly at the innocent question.

He trusts Yui. He values her as a person and her position within the organization so devoted to his father. But Daichi is reactive now, a being purely made to behave in response to the King and Lord-General. He must sit on his hands until he knows what they’ll do, particularly Lord-General Oikawa, and this burns him.

“We should continue our practice,” Asahi gently breaks in. “Before the day gets any hotter. We ought to get into a regular schedule again, for Daichi’s benefit.”

“I’m always ready to use our Prince as a punching bag!” Yui excitedly declares.

“You and everyone else,” Daichi sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi settles into the routine of a balancing act between two major powers. He hopes he doesn't fall.


	16. to get blood from a stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You both insist on ignoring the easiest courses of action,” Kenma mutters, dark and rebellious, “and you _insist_ in seeking out the dangerous and foolhardy ones. Don’t trust witches.”

Daichi’s life becomes a cycle.

The King will not back away from the blood reparations, insisting that it is a bluff and that he will force the Lord-General’s hand as a tyrant. Daichi suspects the man has something else hidden away, a plan to protect himself, but for the life of him, he cannot guess as to what.

The Lord-General will not back away from the marriage, insisting it will be the binding force to keep their countries together and prevent further bloodshed at the first sign of trouble. Daichi knows this is a waiting game, that she’ll let Amicora peacefully separate from their only (official) witch—and who knows what the future may hold.

That’s a generation down the road of life; the Lord-General may be hale and healthy for her age, but she is not a young woman, and Daichi is a very young man. She will not live to see this gambit pay off.

Which makes him suspect her children all the more.

Neither of these ruling powers will back down from their promises; Daichi, as told, cannot fight a two-front war. The treaty draft is sent back and forth with only the most minuscule changes made to it. He’s almost certain the most recent did nothing but change the draft number.

Spring grows into summer, and while Daichi’s life has boiled down into letters from their enemies to the north, it is not all bad.

Some of the letters belong to Koushi.

Koushi seems even more vibrant without the magic holding him back. Daichi does not suspect any of his words—true to his first letter, they rarely talk of anything official or stately—but it makes Daichi realize just how carefully the man had been holding his tongue. He writes of small, daily details; tries to goad Daichi into trading recipes, though Daichi has made his distaste for Setarian cookery (if it can be called that) clear; presses foreign flowers carefully between pages, though none come out particularly pretty by the time they reach Amicora; and laments the wet weather that Daichi sees none of in his southern country.

Even so far away, he’s doing a perfect job at endearing himself to Daichi.

Daichi, resigned to these terrible fond feelings, enjoys the letters for what they are. It’s rare for him to receive correspondence that isn’t begging for an audience or an invitation to a party he doesn’t wish to attend. Rarer still for repeated correspondence.

But it’s not as if Koushi offers many options, either—just further temptation. He tries to concentrate on the treaty drafts, repetitive as they are.

 

—

 

Daichi doesn’t see much of Kenma as of late. When he does, he’s always in uniform (a shock in itself), and always accompanied by Tetsurou (less shocking). He avoids eye contact and keeps his sentences more curt than normal.

He doesn’t know if Kenma and Koutarou had sorted out their differences privately, or they’re simply avoiding each other. He doesn’t yet know the role the third witch has played, except that they had been present for that fight. Repairs have been made to the palace wall, although the stone doesn’t quite match and the replacement windows are not the fanciful stained glass that the rest of the hall has, but, of course, repairs to witches themselves aren’t so easily done.

Tetsurou keeps him updated on Kenma, but he’s even less dynamic than the damned treaty.

“The treaty should be your focus, but if you’re not going to make a decision or pick a side, then you’re better off working on consolidating your own power,” Kenma tonelessly tells him—and not for the first time. “You need the knights, you need the military, and you need, at a minimum, some manner of spy to keep an eye on your father’s covert movements.”

Daichi stares very hard at the secret witch he’s blackmailing into helping him.

“None of the other servants trust me, your father doesn’t trust me, and I have no official access to anywhere that would be useful,” Kenma deadpans. “The only use I am to you, Highness, is as an advisor. So let me advise you, and actually listen to me for once.”

His wording is unnecessarily pointed, but Daichi files it away for later to discuss with Tetsurou. “I’m an honest man. I’ve never had to put much thought into this kind of thing.”

“And you’re suffering for it now,” Kenma replies.

“Hey, be nicer,” Tetsurou says, daring to elbow him, albeit lightly. Kenma jostles from the movement and his braid flops off his shoulder. He doesn’t appear either annoyed or any nicer. “This is a steep learning curve, and I don’t think any of us expected to be thrown into this so suddenly.”

“Perhaps if the Prince had put more thought into inviting enemies into our lives…”

“The Prince is trying to end a damned war,” Daichi shoots back.

“You’re making a lot of enemies. If you don’t agree with His Majesty’s insistence on the blood reparations, then you are making very quick, very strong enemies close to you. You won’t have to worry about Setaria if your own father—”

“Kenma, we know that,” Tetsurou breaks in. Kenma falls silent as if scolded, shoulders hunched around his ears. “Tell us how we can consolidate our power here. Tell us how to do what you’re suggesting.”

“…You should make a concentrated effort to recruit new knights. Your father cannot complain about you wishing to bolster forces. But you need more immediate changes, too, so you’re going to have to make friends within the ranks.”

“Yui,” Daichi and Tetsurou say at once.

“One woman isn’t enough. And if you keep playing favorites with her, you’ll only make her a target for your father’s supporters,” Kenma replies. “Recruitment, and befriend more officers. The same for the military, but since that’s a larger organization, you should focus on winning over generals and commandants.”

“General Ukai isn’t a bad man,” Daichi says, thoughtful.

“He’s always vocal when it comes to arguing with your father, too,” Tetsurou adds.

Kenma turns further from them, despite the hope in their voices. Daichi catches this, and ducks down to try to meet Kenma’s eye. “Is there some reason General Ukai wouldn’t be a good ally?”

Kenma shrugs, just a little. “He would be fine. But you need to think about their position relative to the treaty, too…”

“The older ones are going to get executed because of the treaty. Wouldn’t that turn them _against_ the King, since he’s a proponent of that clause?” Tetsurou asks. He frowns, brows drawn low, and Kenma hunches a little further.

“If the King is planning something to circumvent that, then he’d win over the ranking officers, too,” Kenma quietly replies.

“Or they could side with me, and avoid the prospect of execution altogether. That’s an angle we could work with,” Daichi says. Kenma doesn’t argue, though he doesn’t look pleased; Daichi is too weary to press the issue further, with how Kenma is withdrawing. “Alright, spy network. I have absolutely nothing on that front, so we’re building from the ground up. Surely that will please you?”

“The best outcome would be to sway someone close to your father,” Kenma says. “And someone or a small group who can move about the palace without notice.”

“Daichi’s friendly with the servants! Especially the cooks!” Tetsurou exclaims.

But Kenma cuts off the victory before it can be one. “Most of the cooks don’t move outside of the kitchens and storehouses. Only the serving staff directly interact with any nobility or the King. Not everyone is like Daichi.”

“You’re not going to let us have any wins, are you?” Tetsurou replies. Kenma shrugs, again, though this time, Daichi can see the smallest quirk to the corner of his mouth.

“Koutarou,” Daichi says, and Kenma’s expression shutters. “Father trusts him, and Koutarou is bound to our blood, so he has access to many secrets.”

“You want to trust a witch,” Kenma says flatly.

Tetsurou guffaws and slings an arm around Kenma’s slight shoulders. “You’re _adorable_ , Kenma! But will ya give us some good news for a moment? Kou isn’t someone to ignore in all this power play.”

“You both insist on ignoring the easiest courses of action,” Kenma mutters, dark and rebellious, “and you _insist_ in seeking out the dangerous and foolhardy ones. Don’t trust witches.”

Daichi mentally counts to ten and releases a slow exhale. “What of you?” he asks, the picture of calm.

Kenma _finally_ meets his gaze with eyes as sharp as a knife. “What _of_ me?”

“Be nicer,” Tetsurou says again, and jostles Kenma once more. His eyes drop away from Daichi’s—Daichi finds he can breathe again without that bright gold boring into him—and his cheeks go the slightest bit pink. Tetsurou adds, “You’re just showing your worry, I think, but we can figure this out. Give us a bit of time, and we’ll get more pieces on the board, Kenma. Have a bit of faith.”

“Faith tends to get humans killed,” Kenma replies.

 

—

 

“A letter arrived for you this morning, my lord,” one of the (non-witch) errand boys say with a deep, flustered bow. “I-It’s from Setaria.”

This is not an unknown way for Daichi to receive a wakeup call; he’s more surprised he slept in this late rather than with the arrival of the letter. He waves the page over, taking the letter, knowing better than to ask for it to be read to him. Even if he would rather enjoy his bed for a few more moments.

Lethargic mornings have become a treasured rarity for the Crown Prince.

With his mind gradually waking, he comes to find this particular morning suspiciously quiet. His father had scheduled yet another meeting with his closest advisors to talk everyone in circles; Daichi tires of them, but he has no choice but to attend. At the very least, Asahi should have been in by now to pull him from slumber and get him into something approaching coherency.

But no, Daichi is alone now, holding a letter bearing the now-familiar seal of General Sugawara, and rubbing the leftover sleep from his eyes.

Daichi swears Koushi perfumes these letters—no, he must, but he must _magic_ them to allow them to remain fresh despite the distance between them. They don’t quite smell like his memory does, instead more artificial and forced, but it remains pleasant. Daichi loathes how susceptible he is to this. It’s terrible, but at least Koushi is _transparent_ about his inevitable treachery.

Or, perhaps it’s cruel to blame Koushi for this. He isn’t loved by the Lord-General either. Daichi does not know what goes through the man’s mind—outside of his incessant need to share any dirty thought that comes to him.

It is largely for this reason that Daichi is not surprised when the letter begins, right after salutations, with a _vivid_ description of a past dream.

He sighs, both fond and exasperated. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, or something. Daichi marvels at the fact that he has become the subject of so many illicit fantasies; so much of his life had been being an untouchable royal. He’s supposed to be above such pedestrian things. (That’s why he had latched onto Tetsurou so swiftly. He brought a dose of what a more common childhood must be like, a valuable playmate and unbiased, outside perspective.)

Koushi, too, breaks the mold. He can’t help but smile—again, thanking his privacy—and rifles through the papers. Not all of it seems vulgar, and there is another pressed flower between pages two and three, but Daichi’s breath catches when he finds the last page.

It’s full of drawings. They are very well done, charcoal sketches but no less detailed for it.

And half of the page is _filthy_.

Daichi folds the paper once more, face aflame, and breaks line of sight.

He takes several deep breaths before reopening the page. Koushi has scrawled several notes in the margins, rare spaces not taken up by drawing, and as Daichi studiously ignores the realistic renditions of the man’s nether regions, he comes to understand that these are not Koushi’s drawings.

It makes sense, since the angle would be different if he were drawing himself, unless he were to make use of a mirror. But imagining Koushi, flush-faced and gasping and hard while enjoying the sight of himself in a mirror is nearly as distracting as the drawings themselves.

If Koushi did not draw these, it meant someone _else_ did.

Daichi bites back a laugh at imagining the poor portrait painter who’d so coldly painting his official commission. But, as he rifles back to the letter proper, he finds Koushi enthusiastically describing a friend of his, the friend who has such a talent for art, despite their profession.

So someone else drew this. Someone who is not a professional saw Koushi like this.

Daichi feels something dark pool within him, and he _knows_ he is in trouble.

 

—

 

“Why didn’t anyone wake me?” Daichi asks as he strides into the room. What he means: _why didn’t anyone wake me, why couldn’t I find any servants to help me dress, where the hell is Asahi_.

The latter is answered in the form of his very nervous attendant standing at the King’s side.

The curious part—not that Asahi’s demanded presence isn’t curious—is who _isn’t_ here. Only Takurou and General Ukai are here.

Takurou has always been close to his father, but the general, while loyal to both crown and country, has been vocal and stubborn when his views haven’t aligned with the King’s. General Ukai may be getting older, but there’s a reason he hasn’t retired from his post. Daichi sometimes believes it’s just so he has a position from which to yell at the King.

“The meeting hasn’t started yet,” his father replies without looking up.

“It looks like a meeting to me. Why do you need Asahi here?” Daichi replies.

“We needed a military perspective,” Takurou reasons, but Daichi stares _hard_ at General Ukai, and Takurou falters, just the smallest bit. “I understand Lieutenant Azumane may have been discharged, but he still has experience with things you and I cannot hope to comprehend in the same manner.”

Daichi’s eye twitches. Takurou likely didn’t mean anything by it, but it stings, and Daichi’s mood is not one for insults.

“Daichi, is there a reason you believe you’re needed here at this exact moment?” the King asks.

“I am the Crown Prince, and I deserve to be kept abreast of any and all political maneuvering in _my_ court,” Daichi says, standing tall as he can, hands balled at his sides.

His father finally raises his head. His expression is unusually cold, considering this is only the beginning of an argument. “You and I both know,” he frankly replies, “there is _much_ political maneuvering you are not privy to.”

The King’s comment is a strike across the face compared to the mild sting of Takurou’s.

Daichi can’t even bring himself to answer at first. Rage boils in his veins, but worse—worse than his father’s admittance, worse than his father’s gall to _say_ it to his face—are the angry tears prickling at his eyes. He will not give him the satisfaction. He will not lose further face.

“Get out, Daichi. I’m trying to save this country, and we can discuss your role in it later,” the King sighs and dismisses him.

 

—

 

Daichi’s next letter to Koushi is short, written in the heat of the moment and the raw desperation he feels in the face of the insurmountable opponents he’s going to be crushed under. It is a single line on the entire sheet of paper. His hand shakes, already fearing his moment of weakness, as he stamps his seal into the wax.

He needs an answer.

He needs _help_.

 

_Dear Koushi,_

 

_Do you believe I truly stand a chance?_

 

_Crown Prince Daichi of Amicora_

 

—

 

“Killing General Sugawara is the easiest course of action,” General Ushijima tells him with no preamble.

Daichi exhales through his nose and turns the page in the book about the history of the knights. Beside him, Alisa looks nervously between them. She hasn’t been directly addressed—she’s too proper to insert herself into their conversation, no matter how bold Wakatoshi may be—but Daichi knows she has an opinion.

“What is my father planning about the blood reparations?” Daichi asks without looking up. While the history of the knighthood is interesting, it’s not at all helpful in figuring out how to gain approval of any kind from their organization.

“It would be best if you were to give in to the demands of the betrothal for the time being, and focus on helping the King draft a rebuttal to the other issue.”

“It’s easy to call this an _issue_ when it’s not your head on the chopping block, hm?” Daichi asks.

“If you’ve truly grown attached to the Setarian General, then you’re even more foolish than the King believes,” Wakatoshi says, uncharacteristically cruel.

Alisa clears her throat. Neither man bats an eye.

“Perhaps I’m playing a longer game than you, General,” Daichi replies, coldly, “and I’m not seeking to reignite a war a moment after ending it. It was a Queen’s death that started this, and I won’t allow a Prince Consort’s death to continue it.”

“To give up the Court Witch would be suicidal,” Wakatoshi growls.

“I’m _still alive_ , General. As we all know, I’m useless on the field, so in a renewed wartime, I won’t be. Now, I tire of this conversation, so you’re dismissed.”

“You—”

“He said you were dismissed, sir,” Alisa hisses.

Wakatoshi blinks at her, only then registering her presence, apparently. With a stiff nod, he leaves them, and activity in the library slowly resumes. Daichi waits until the sharp _clicks_ of his boot heels are completely gone, then he slumps in his seat. “Thank you,” he tells her.

“Of course, Highness,” Alisa replies. She hesitates a moment, then places her hand on Daichi’s forearm as a sign of comfort. “He had no right saying any of that to you. I understand he’s a highly accomplished man, but his arrogance is… bewildering.”

“Is it arrogance if he can uphold it?” General Ushijima has been carrying his army for the last few years of the war, and without his military insight or victories, things would have been more grim than they already are. He’s not a man Daichi should be having public spats with.

Perhaps he’s turning into his father.

“I know the easiest way out of this is to accept the proposal and dispose of the General later, with more time,” Daichi admits, in a very quiet voice. Alisa inclines her head to hear him, and her silverite hair falls in a graceful curtain over one shoulder. Daichi finds himself staring at it. “It’s easiest, but it also doesn’t _fix_ anything. It’s only putting this off in hopes that answers become clearer later. Allies, or neutral powers, or what have you—if anything happens to General Sugawara, Setaria will have an answer for it.”

“Accidents always happen,” Alisa mildly replies.

“You and I both know they wouldn’t believe that.”

“Yes. They wouldn’t.”

“There aren’t any blood relatives I could adopt…” Daichi sighs. He knows Alisa has been scouring every royal record she could get her hands on (and even some Kenma had helped to procure). “I don’t even know how much blood must be shared to satisfy the binding.”

“It follows a bloodline, so that means someone new marries in every generation. There must be some faith involved, otherwise one person’s blood would be diluted very swiftly. How long has the Lord Witch been bound to your family?”

“Generations, at least,” Daichi replies. He’s never had a specific answer, nor had his father. “The oldest concrete record I’ve ever found of him dates back four and a half centuries, if you can believe that.”

“Has… anyone ever _tried_ adoption? I-I know it’s a bold thing to suggest, even as a guess, but if we are running out of avenues to pursue…” Alisa falls silent, uncertain.

“I cannot risk it. I cannot…” _I cannot ask Koutarou_. Koutarou is loyal to the royal line, and overall a friendly face, but it’s little secret that he has vocalized distaste for his binding. It would be rude at best to ask him if a non-blood heir would satisfy his requirements—and hostile at worst.

“You could always have an illegitimate heir. You have no siblings to contest the crown.”

“Setaria could claim I’m—rightfully—being unfaithful to the union. But it may be a solution.” Daichi massages the furrow in his brow and hopes his headache will soon ease. Asahi will overworry if he must see the healer again so soon. “It would certainly be less of an issue to have a bastard than it would to murder a spouse.”

There are conservative members of the court to consider, and he could not seek out anyone who had _any_ kind of potential power. He could not have any kind of bid for power against him. But at least it could be something else for years in the future, a headache for another day…

The thought is tempting.

There is a long list of potential solutions, but none are perfect. Daichi wishes he _were_ as foolish as others think; then it could be that he’s simply missing something obvious, and he could laugh about it after the fact.

 

—

 

“Tell me what you’re planning for the blood reparations,” Daichi asks of his father over a private dinner at a long table. There is much space between them. The fireplace is dim, but it’s on his father’s side of the room, and he hasn’t asked anyone to stoke the flames.

Daichi’s head pounds.

“What are _you_ planning for the blood reparations?” his father asks in return.

 _I could accept them. I could allow them to put you to death and have the public embrace me for ending the war_ , Daichi thinks, vicious in his pain. Aloud, he wearily answers, “The Lord-General wouldn’t let herself die for spite. She’s planning something as well, and I intend to find out, and combat this at the source.”

“You won’t see her again until autumn, for the _signing_ ,” his father replies. “That’s a very long time to wait without a plan.”

“Then share yours.”

“Why did you really want that page to help you? He can’t be _that_ clever.”

“Why does Kenma’s presence among my men cause you such distress?”

Dinner falls silent. His father coughs into his cloth, but the fit subsides before it can begin. Daichi eats mechanically, without tasting, and struggles not to grind his teeth on his fork.

“Daichi,” his father rasps, “I don’t want to be at odds with you. I’ve never wanted that.”

“…I know,” he softly replies.

“I’m trying to protect this country, yes, but also you. It’s a difficult position we’ve found ourselves in. I had never expected you to contact the Lord-General directly, and neither of us were prepared for her machinations,” his father admits.

Daichi is surprised by the confession, but he won’t show it. He stares, impassive, across the long table. The candles between them cast stale shadows along the walls.

His father sets down his fork, and rests his head in his hands. Daichi has not seen him look so fragile in years; only his childhood memories can relate to the cracks in the King’s armor. “I know she plots to pit us against one another. Father against son—for all her airs, she has never valued family. We cannot allow her to win this. No matter what else, we must prioritize our country, and our family.”

The King only has the Prince left. Daichi only has his father left. His mother’s signet ring suddenly feels a little heavier, hanging from his neck. “I know, father,” Daichi says.

Their priorities have never matched up. As much as he values this conversation, values a reminder of the human side of the sometimes harsh King, they were never meant to see eye to eye.

His father considers family above all else. He would be the one to keep Koutarou for centuries more. He was the one to start a war for the sake of his lost wife. As much as Daichi despises it, not allowing him to see the battlefield was another attempt at protecting him, a habit carried over from what he remembers of his mother.

But Daichi, he values peace.

He wonders which of them will be the one to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi receives a letter not from any General he's used to corresponding with, and the Amicoran envoy leaves for Setaria.


	17. drinking from the bloody cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you were a harder man, Daichi,” Koutarou sighs wistfully, and stares off at some middle distance, beyond Daichi’s shoulder. He rolls onto his stomach. “What we could do together! Your attentions wouldn’t be so torn. I’ve often wondered what would happen if you were more like your father.”

The summer passes in a haze of heat and politics.

They do not move to one of the summer palaces, to Daichi’s disappointment. He loves the one on the coast best, though his father has never made it a secret he isn’t partial to it. (The Queen had been.) Letters and drafts between the countries are delayed enough by distance, and there is no need to worsen it. Daichi swelters in his summer chambers, without the sea breeze or warm waters to soothe him.

The treaty continues going in circles. There have been minor adjustments, hinting that Setaria is just as frustrated with the stagnation as they are, but it’s not as bolstering as Daichi would hope.

The King continues to insist that the Lord-General is waiting for Daichi’s plea to stop the blood reparations, as a sign of weakness, but Daichi isn’t as inclined to believe this. Any motions he has made to combat this have been summarily rejected.

_There must be justice for the bloodshed and lives lost_ , the Lord-General has written back, more than once. _We must honor their loss. How else do you propose this?_

Naturally, no one has come up with any answer to satisfy her. His father is little help, and Daichi still does not know what he plans.

Why is _Daichi_ the worried one? _He_ is not the one who could die for this war. When he turns to the bottle, or when he wishes to scream in his father’s face, he is so very tempted by the thought of _letting_ them die for their damned maneuvering and plotting and contriving.

He worries that this is what the Lord-General is waiting for.

He worries, more, that she is waiting for a face-to-face confrontation. Either she expects an impassioned plea for the life of his father and senior staff, or she is saving words of her own. Daichi isn’t sure which he dreads more.

Koushi’s letters, at least, retain their sentimentality and warmth. Surprisingly, he did not sidestep or downplay Daichi’s desperate letter. He had written back, six full pages of fierce defense, admiration, and faith. Daichi almost believed them, too. He appreciates the gesture, either way, and he secretly believes that even Tetsurou had been moved by Koushi’s words.

But on the whole, their letters have relaxed back into their (sometimes naughty) nonsense. Koushi does speak more of Setarian life now—small tidbits of the other generals and officers, continued dismay at formal boots, mild frustration with the logistics of such huge armies navigating such a fragile ceasefire—and of his personal life. He does not try to hide himself with raunchiness.

Koushi has a friend there, the one who drew (and continues to draw) such detailed depictions. Daichi isn’t certain who this friend is, other than the fact that it is a man, he is not part of the Setarian military, and he is not from Canuste either. Koushi is not purposefully mysterious, but Daichi still feels the ugly burn of jealousy whenever he thinks of this unknown man.

Time has tempered it, at least. It has been several months since he had last seen Koushi, after all, and no curiosity, however amorous, can stand the test of time. Daichi has not looked elsewhere for stress relief—what a shock, truly, that a large amount of his stress is gone with the absence of enemies in his home—but there have been snide mentions.

Primarily by Morisuke.

Daichi both values and detests the healer’s frank approach to sassing his superiors.

Daichi lays in bed, late at night, sweating through his sheets and wishing his open windows would bring in the slightest breeze. The canopy above him offers no answers, but it is an easy point to fixate upon. _Morisuke_ , he counts, _and Alisa. Tetsurou and Asahi. Kenma. Yui._

The people he trusts have grown in number, some by necessity, yet they do not reassure him. He has none of the people Kenma had advised.

He isn’t sure he has Koutarou anymore, either.

The witch has been cagier than usual. He will speak to Daichi again, but never go out of his way to be friendly, and he’s avoiding Tetsurou nearly to the point of comedy. Kenma and Koutarou will not appear together anymore. Daichi fears losing Koutarou even before marriages and blood children are an issue.

_Knighthood, military, and a spy_ , Daichi recounts. None seem within his grasp. The knights, perhaps, are his best bet. They’re close to home, and on a smaller scale, and he at least has a starting point. Yui, and further recruitment. Perhaps fate will smile upon him for all of a moment and some leading figure will have a change of heart.

Daichi will not hold his breath.

The breeze finally comes in through the window, blessedly cool.

He thinks he sees the shadow of a figure outside his window as he rolls to put his sweaty back to the fresh air, but Daichi will not hold his breath on that, either.

 

—

 

“You’re going to break your neck yet!” Asahi frets, riding beside him.

“Captain would _never_!” Daichi declares. His stallion’s gait is smooth, and Daichi’s balance is perfect. Tetsurou and Kentarou dutifully clap from the fence by the field. Tetsurou may be doing better, back healing and beginning to scar, but he’s bad on a horse on a good day. It is only Daichi and Asahi today.

And if Daichi wishes to parade around like a teenage boy trying to woo a court lady, showing off by standing on his horse, then that’s more power to him. He can do what he wishes.

Daichi shifts his weight, just enough to encourage Captain to slow down, and Asahi even frets over that. He pulls his own horse around, and Daichi quickly crouches as Captain snorts at the other horse. “Don’t be so dour,” Daichi tells him. “I’m fine.”

“It only takes once,” Asahi reproachfully replies.

“Isn’t that what I’m for?” Koutarou asks, suddenly floating between them. Asahi opens his mouth to retort before he realizes who had spoken.

The horses, well-trained as they are, only flick their ears at the presence of the witch. Their riders are less trained. Daichi sits back down, feeling rather like a scolded child, despite the fact that Koutarou had said nothing to that effect. “I’ve never been thrown,” Daichi mutters, a touch defensive.

“We like to think the best of you,” Asahi says to Koutarou, “but accidents happen. It’s my job to fret over my lord.”

“And you excel, every day,” Daichi adds.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“ _I_ still insist you don’t need human guards at all,” Koutarou drawls, floating along as he would in water, reclining lazily. He has his wrists back now—no fingers, but enough to add to his gesturing, and the scabbing is gone and replaced by fresh, pinkish scar tissue. It doesn’t match the rest of his arms. Daichi cannot tear his eyes away; Asahi cannot bear to look in Koutarou’s direction.

“You cannot be everywhere at once,” Asahi mildly replies.

“I’m generally faster than a man,” Koutarou retorts.

“You have the King, and you are not solely the Prince’s bodyguard. It would be… demeaning, to use our Lord Witch in such a way. It is fine to allow human guards.”

“Demeaning?” Koutarou says with a bark of a laugh. Daichi isn’t certain if he’s amused or not. “I’ve done it before, you know. Guarded an heir, focused only on one person. It’s not so bad. I did it for a couple years when Daichi was younger, before you were in his life.”

It’s a pointed remark, but nothing out of the ordinary for Koutarou. Asahi bows his head and allows his win, even if he could easily point out that his lack of attention could hypothetically be a cause for the Queen’s death.

“Could you give us some privacy?” Daichi asks, and Asahi nods. Koutarou waves farewell with his freshly jointed hand.

“You’re still so polite!” Koutarou says, preening, and floats in closer to Daichi. Captain flicks an ear in annoyance, and tries to shy from him, but Koutarou follows in the air. “Even to your underlings. Some would think it’s unbecoming for a Prince.”

“I’ve always been like this,” Daichi replies, confused.

“If you were a harder man, Daichi,” Koutarou sighs wistfully, and stares off at some middle distance, beyond Daichi’s shoulder. He rolls onto his stomach. “What we could do together! Your attentions wouldn’t be so torn. I’ve often wondered what would happen if you were more like your father.”

“I’ve often wondered the same,” Daichi confesses. More war, likely, but perhaps a definitive end. An end to the bloodshed through faster bloodshed. A victory for Amicora. His mother, finally avenged. “But Koutarou, you didn’t come here to badger Asahi and reminisce about what-ifs. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, and I’ve allowed this. What’s changed your mind now?”

“Your father insists on the reparations,” Koutarou says, “and the Lord-General insists on the marriage. What’s going to crumple first?”

“…The marriage, you know this,” Daichi replies, cautious and surly at the mention of it.

“And that means you end up with that General tethered to you. Everyone wants to kill him, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Aaaaaand you really don’t like that, hm?” Koutarou asks with an innocent bat of his eyes.

Daichi’s hand tightens on Captain’s reins. “No, of course not. My feelings are irrelevant. It’s the easiest way to spark the war again, and that’s two steps backward to any forward step. I won’t allow it.”

“You admit you have feelings?” Koutarou eagerly asks, grinning like a satisfied mouser.

Daichi eyes him warily. “My _feelings_ are that I don’t want to murder an innocent man I’ve enjoyed the company of. I don’t want that sort of blood on my hands, if avoidable.”

“But Daichi, don’t you know what kind of blood he has on _his_ hands?” the witch whines and rolls in the air again, floating lazily on his back. He folds his arms beneath his head, as if using them for a pillow. Captain snorts again at his proximity, and Daichi reassures his horse with a few pets. Spoiled thing. (Both witch and horse.)

“Everything I know of him points toward the fact that he sincerely hopes for peace, and this treaty,” Daichi replies. “I’m aware of his military record, Koutarou. Several times I’ve read what little history we have on him. No one’s innocent in this, yes, but it’s a _war_. War crimes are the entire point of the blood reparations.”

“Half of the Setarian Council, and then you have a neat little theft of another. They’re down to four then!”

“Not exactly a silver lining.” Their military is better built for easier replacement; the highest officers aren’t there for a lifetime post, but only until the end of a successful, shorter career. A decade, maybe half more, at most. Daichi hadn’t thought much of the turnover rate until it had become horribly relevant like this.

Daichi wishes he had the courage to ask what Koutarou _actually_ wants. It’s not his usual style, to tease so cruelly.

Koutarou hums, rolls over again, and shakes his loose hair out of his eyes, since he has no fingers to brush it back. “I wanted to apologize,” he says, solemnly.

Daichi blinks at him. Koutarou has no issue with apology, but it normally comes in bursts of emotion, not this dangerously serious mood of his. “I… thank you.”

Koutarou smiles at him, but it’s not even half as bright as his usual ones. It’s shadowed with sorrow—not even self-depreciation or anger, as can also be the case from time to time. This frightens Daichi more than anything else. “I actually _do_ like you, do you know that?” Koutarou asks.

Daichi both feels real fear and real embarrassment. He’s not certain which wins out in his heart, but he’s certainly sweating either way. “Wh-What spurred this, Kou?”

Koutarou completely breaks his own atmosphere with a squeal and a booming laugh, both sounds at odds with each other. It’s highly characteristic of him. The familiarity reassures Daichi on a basic level, but his active mind remains on high alert, in case he must try to defuse something terrible.

“Sorry, sorry, you just seem so _scared_! By the stars, do you know how pretty that is on you?!”

Daichi’s face flames, and he again tightens his hold on the reins. He doesn’t like that Koutarou finds _fear_ attractive—he likes that he’ll announce this apropos of nothing even less.

Sensing Daichi’s tension, Captain begins prancing instead of his steady walk—Daichi reaches forward to soothe him, and at the same time, Koutarou reaches for Daichi.

In his peripherals, he would have sworn it was a hand coming for him— _claws_ , connected to something distinctly inhuman and terrifying.

Aside from a flash of reactionary fear, Daichi doesn’t process this brief image, because Captain spooks and bolts. He swears, clinging to the reins, tugging fruitlessly, but his horse ignores him for once. Fear is gone, replaced by frustration and the firmness that always comes with dealing with stubborn animals.

By the time he pulls Captain back into a steady walk, they’re at the far end of the field, and Koutarou is gone.

 

—

 

The summons eventually comes.

A new summit, to force out the remainder of the treaty, whatever it becomes.

The letter also strongly implies many questions about how to prepare for an Amicoran royal wedding.

With his father and father’s advisors—not Asahi, not Tetsurou, certainly not Kenma—looking over his response until they have perfected it, Daichi pens his return letter with a heavy hand and heavier heart. He still doesn’t know what he’ll do. Somehow, he must come up with his response to the blood reparations _and_ the betrothal, and looking the Lord-General in the eye at the same time.

The date is set, and Daichi agrees. This is going to end, one way or another, and dread curdles in his stomach with every day that inches him nearer to autumn.

Koushi’s letters still come regularly, and they are still filled with endearing (often vulgar) familiarity. Koushi regales him with mild information about politics. Rarely, he mentions his artist friend. Daichi finds himself more concerned with the latter, as wearisome as politics have been. It remains a marvel to see such insight into an enemy’s life, but a pleasant one, at the least.

With just days left before Daichi is set to depart—with palace staff bustling to pack for him, leaving him restless and useless to help—he receives yet another letter with the Setarian seal.

He doesn’t register the minor differences in what had been a familiar sight when he opens the letter.

The handwriting, however, instantly stalls him.

 

_To His Highness the Crown Prince Daichi of Amicora,_

 

It has been so long since Daichi has seen such a title that it feels very near foreign to him. Even the Lord-General has given up on such formalities.

 

_I hope the summer months have been well to you, in heart, mind, and body. I know Amicora has been stabilizing, due to the ceasefire, and I find this news nearly as pleasing as I find Setaria’s mirror of your situation. Peace, even this temporary, fleeting, fragile peace, is a blessing neither I nor you have known in our lifetimes. I sincerely hope we can further this, together._

_I write you this letter to remind you of the royal favor I won - fairly and justly - in our sparring match many months past. I will not accept any chance you could have forgotten this, because judging by how frequently Koushi receives and writes your letters, you hold dear all memories you have of him, even ones that contain him dishonestly covered in my blood. I hope we hold a decent level of accord even so._

_I write you this letter as to recall this royal favor, Your Highness._

 

The letter is from General Oikawa. The youngest. Daichi does, in fact, recall the fact that Tooru has a royal favor to use at his leisure. Not that it had been any official decree, but Daichi is a man of honor, and Tooru is a man of sharp memory.

He’d anticipated its use being put toward the treaty, or at the very least something relating to Tooru’s own advancement. Perhaps Koushi’s, if they truly did have a friendship rather than a working relationship borne of ages closest to Amicora’s Crown Prince.

 

_I do ask that you keep this letter and its contents away from the attentions of my mother. It will not remain secret from her, and you will not be blamed for any covert machinations. I will prevent any accusations to befall you, but you must exercise discretion, and allow me to handle how she finds out._

_For the royal favor, I ask that you rescind the traditional forbiddance of witches during our next peace summit._

 

_They want witches present?_ Daichi marvels over this. He has infighting and nightmares dealing with his own witches, and yet Tooru wishes to expose enemies to their own witches. Perhaps they’re better behaved, but it’s a risk. It could even be a trap. A loud and explosive assassination. A witch killing the Crown Prince would put a stop to any and all peace talks, but that doesn’t seem to benefit Tooru at all, and there are many, _many_ ways to achieve the same end without a flowery letter and unknown magics.

Daichi makes the mistake of asking his father for advice.

“Let me understand you clearly—you gave a _royal favor_ to an enemy general?” the King asks, clear and cold as ice.

“It had been a boy’s bet, foolish and naive, but no true harm was intended,” Takurou says. “Your Majesty, it’s unwise to show your temper when this is such an old, mild problem compared to current pains.”

“Don’t lecture me on where and when I can _show my temper_ ,” the King snaps. Daichi’s glad it’s not him, for once, though he has no love of Takurou. His chief advisor falls silent, bowing his head, and the King turns back to his son. “Daichi, that was a very foolish mistake.”

“I know,” Daichi replies, thinking of the fact that he sought out his father for advice. Not a mistake he would make twice. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Do you know what could happen if he had pressed for something worse?”

“We both were aware it was light play,” Daichi murmurs.

His father ignores him, or doesn’t hear. “And stars forbid that horrid woman hear of this… It’s curious that her youngest doesn’t want her to know, or else wants to weave some tale for her benefit. Curious indeed. But it’s no saving grace of _yours_ , Daichi.”

“Are we going to overlook the obvious in favor of reprimanding the Prince again?” Suguru pipes up.

All eyes fall on him.

Suguru only becomes mouthy when he has a _very_ good point to make, after all.

Grinning, sly and smug, he makes a strange little gesture. “Witches, Your Majesty. Plural.”

“Setaria has two honorbound to Generals on their Council,” Takurou points out with a sneer. “This is common knowledge, even in civilized lands, Daishou.”

“Send Koutarou with Daichi,” Suguru says.

“You—you want to _send a witch_ in a royal entourage?!”

“Explain yourself,” the King commands with narrowed eyes, “and explain _precisely_ why you would want to send our proud nation’s only witch into enemy territory with my son.”

“There’s the obvious show of power,” Suguru replies.

The King’s eyes narrow impossibly further. For all of his faults, the man would never expose his only son to such dangers as a mere display.

“He would keep Daichi safe in unknown lands. When’s the last time any warm-blooded Amicoran stepped foot in Vierage? Guards couldn’t cut it, especially since tensions run high with all of this back and forth. This is total assurance that our Prince would remain safe.”

“Two witches in Setaria,” Takurou reiterates, firmly. “We would risk not only His Highness, but our only witch. Why concern ourselves with a childless marriage when they could end our royal line _and_ national defense with one fell swoop?”

“We’re there to negotiate a _peace treaty_ ,” Daichi loudly breaks back in. The squabbling advisors turn to him, though Takurou (as usual) is more upset than Suguru. Despite the difference in their age and experience, Suguru comes off as unfairly calm in arguments such as this. “The Lord-General would not have gone through the trouble of all of these talks and drafts just for a flashy assault now.”

“Daichi is right. That isn’t Nanashi’s style of warfare.”

“But the fact still remains, Your Majesty, that Koutarou would be outnumbered,” Takurou points out.

“All the more reason to send Koutarou at all, isn’t it?” Suguru asks. “One is better than none.”

“We don’t have to escalate this at all,” Daichi replies. “I don’t know what General Oikawa is playing at, but this letter wasn’t sent with aggression. I think this is some power play within Setarian politics. Even if he is the Lord-General’s son, he’s young and could be trying to prove something to his peers. He… wasn’t the one they chose as a marriage prospect to me. He could be looking at repercussions.”

“Or he truly wished to be a prince,” Suguru mildly agrees. “Still, we ought to send Koutarou along as a guard.”

Daichi knows what his father is thinking, why he is so against the idea of yet another pissing match with the Lord-General: they have recently enough seen the fallout of a fight between witches.

At face value, this could mean that the King truly does wish for peace between the countries, that he does not wish for anything to escalate further. He would rather avoid unnecessary violence. He would not wish for his son to be anywhere near such a battle, a reason he had oft cited in the past to prevent Daichi from any field experience.

But he also cannot risk both weapon and heir. He could still suspect the Lord-General of further poison against the royal family. Whether it’s again trying to incite a coup, or something even more insidious… Daichi shudders to think of any of it.

“A true pity we _only_ have our single Court Witch,” Suguru says in a low voice.

Daichi freezes to the spot.

He must maintain plausible deniability that he is unaware of Kenma’s true nature if he wants _any_ chance of keeping his edge in this political mess. He cannot admit he knows _anything_ about any other witch.

But he had not expected to be outnumbered like this, three against one, in a meeting that had been meant for planning the Amicoran entourage. Truthfully, he had discounted the possibility of bringing Kenma, just for what it would do to his cover; an advisor, however clever, would not be worth the trouble of arguing for on an extended tour.

Daichi stands, rigid, grinding his teeth to prevent himself from saying anything foolish.

And, in his stock-still panic, Daichi notices something _very_ interesting: the sweat on Takurou’s brow.

It makes perfect sense that the King’s most senior advisor knows of the existence of additional witches. His father may be paranoid at times, but he is no fool, and Takurou has long been faithful to the crown. He’s a sharp man.

But his nerves are not in response to the idea that the Crown Prince may know something he shouldn’t.

Takurou is staring in thinly veiled dismay at _Suguru_.

And so, Daichi finds out not only is the King’s newest advisor not meant to know certain things, but they _all_ find out that he does, anyway.

 

—

 

“What in dark hell is this list meant to be?!”

“Why do you so foolishly believe I would not have a say in the Prince’s first excursion into _enemy territory_?!”

“I am taking my _own men_ , Father! I’m not going to be your puppet to move as you please in some foreign land, not when these are _my peace talks_!”

“You’re a naive, untested boy pretending yet again to be higher than his station! You are the Prince, nothing more, and you are going to be _eaten alive_ by that snake of a woman. Stuff your worthless pride for once in your life!”

“ _My_ worthless pride?! Hold your tongue for once—!”

The shouting match comes to an end only when King and Prince are restrained and the healer is brought for the King’s coughing fit. It sounds wetter than usual this time, but Daichi can’t see any blood on the kerchief Morisuke douses with mint water and magic. Daichi, with angry adrenaline still coursing through his veins, storms off to pace elsewhere. He _will not_ feel sorry for his father.

Not when he’s forbidden Daichi’s own men from accompanying him to Setaria.

“These only seem to be your peace talks when they suit the old shit, hm?” Tetsurou asks as he looks over the list of personnel himself. He’s remarkably calm, considering.

“Discretion with your words,” Asahi chides.

“Especially since you two will be left here with…” Daichi tears at his short hair. His people, _his people_ , will be left alone with his father. The smallest infraction could lead to another whipping. “What if he tries something? He’s going to force our hand.”

“Oh, no, he _certainly_ isn’t thinking of doing something to me to force Kenma to reveal himself,” Tetsurou drawls, nose still buried in the lists.

“We’ve already thought of this, my lord,” Asahi explains before Daichi can begin shouting again. He tugs Daichi away from Tetsurou, as a precaution. “We know we will have to behave. We know there will be risks. But Kenma will be here, too, and he would not allow any outmaneuvering. We will stay quiet, and safe.”

_What about you_ , Daichi thinks, but does not voice. Asahi doesn’t have a witch attached to him. But Asahi does not have a loud mouth or foul sense of humor, either. Asahi is smart about keeping his head low.

It’s been many years since Daichi has been anywhere without either of them. And on his first visit to another country without his father… He’d hoped for pleasant company on the journey. He’d hoped for his own men, his own voice, to be heard.

But he fears his father’s plotting, and he won’t have either of his right-hand men with him.

“At least Kou will be going with you,” Tetsurou reasons. “And… Yaku. I guess. He’s still horrible, but he’s not _as_ horrible as certain other parties. Neither of them would let you die to prove a point or provoke a war.”

“Koutarou is literally bound to prevent harm from befalling the Prince,” Kenma says as soon as he appears at Tetsurou’s elbow. They all jump, but Tetsurou jumps a little less, and Daichi wonders if he’s getting used to this. Kenma is in unusual disarray, even for him; his hair isn’t even in the loosest of braids, and his clothing is thrown on, at best. “I will be more of a target than either of you. The King wants to prevent me from further cooperation with you.”

“Can he order you to do anything?”

“Yes, as much as Daichi can,” Kenma replies with a confused frown. He glances off to the side, away from Tetsurou, but shuffles closer to him. “That isn’t the issue, but it will be an annoyance. …Not for you, but for me. I’m going to hate it.”

“I believe in you, little witch,” Tetsurou fondly tells him. He slings an arm around Kenma’s slight shoulders, and Kenma somehow manages to look away even harder.

“I don’t have much time,” Kenma mutters, “but Daichi, you need to realize that you’re going to have to be _very_ careful—”

“I’m going to be exceedingly cautious of the other witches,” Daichi deadpans. There is no need to tell him twice to be leery of witches. Hell, he’s leery of _Koutarou_ , and he’s the one bound to him.

“Daishou,” Kenma flatly corrects. “Your father’s advisor. If you’re careful, if you are very smart and very clever and very cruel, you don’t need to fear him.”

“I don’t think all of those describe our Prince,” Asahi murmurs, nervous, and glances sidelong at Daichi as if to beg forgiveness for no slight whatsoever.

“Why is Daishou even _going_?”

This much, Daichi knows. “…To tutor me,” he admits, with great pain. Asahi and Tetsurou rightfully gape at him. “I’ve never had experience with them, and… we know how well I hold my tongue on the best of days, much less when confronted with the Lord-General. I’m going to have to learn how to speak properly with truth-telling cuffs.”

Tetsurou starts laughing, horribly, and Daichi wonders why he thinks he’ll miss him at all.

Asahi even laughs. Daichi wonders even more why he’ll miss him.

 

—

 

“I’m _bringing_ the _horse_ ,” Daichi growls, Captain’s reins clenched in a white-knuckled grip.

“You’re not bringing a warhorse,” Kentarou growls right back, “to a peace summit, in another country.”

“This is a direct order—”

“No.”

“Let _go_ of the bridle, Kyoutani. I’m bringing him.”

“He’s not a draft horse!”

“He’s _my_ horse, and I’m _making a statement_.”

“Go ride your witch, then.”

“Alright, that’s enough, you two!” Morisuke shouts, and, despite being significantly shorter, physically gets between them. He yanks the reins from both their grips. “The Crown Prince is still our Prince, and if he wants his horse, he’s bringing his horse. He already has to leave two of his pets behind.”

Kentarou snorts, not exactly in amusement, but not quite as aggressive now, either.

“Captain, step on him,” Daichi says, and stars bless his horse for attempting it. Morisuke curses and dances away from giant hooves. Daichi has his reasons for demanding to bring his horse, and even if he must put up with sass, he’s ultimately happy about it. He will speak to Morisuke in private at a later point, he hopes, but for the time being, information is at a premium.

Morisuke hands Captain off to the nearest available squire and yelps when Captain shuffles as if to kick. Daichi laughs.

The morning is bright yet chill with the approaching crispness of autumn, and it will only get cooler the further north they go. Somehow, it feels unreal, that Daichi is about to leave his home country. He has never been without his family on trips such as these, and he has never had the fate of a peace treaty upon his shoulders, either. He has also never traveled with a witch.

Daichi bids farewell to a surprising collection of people he holds dear—would even call friends. Tetsurou, Asahi, they are givens, but Yui has managed to sneak out in the crowd of staff, and Alisa and several other students of the Academy are there as well.

The stiffest farewells are between father and son.

It is just over a fortnight until they reach Setaria, and another three days to the capital. Daichi faces north and readies for his journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi has become the crafty type, against all odds.


	18. to sign away your name in blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suguru slowly takes in Daichi’s appearance: dressed in finery, coronet atop his hair. The Prince stands before him in the closest thing to full regalia as he could manage tonight. Suguru spares him a flat look. “The Prince is here to win me from beneath the King’s nose, is he?”

Worse than being without Asahi or Tetsurou is the mere fact that Daichi is without anyone who could tell him who the hell anyone _else_ is. Daichi doesn’t know the names of anyone on a good day. He’s lucky to have Morisuke and Koutarou with him, and he very unfortunately knows who Suguru is. He knows many more of the attending staff on sight, but no names, and no convenient, trusted advisor for him to rely upon.

It makes for very awkward interactions.

Morisuke is the attending healer, and Koutarou is treated as a noble, though the entire caravan remains skittish around him. Suguru is acting under the official role of advisor, which rankles Daichi, considering his usual pair. Daichi vaguely knows the woman from the Royal Academy who has come along, and he recognizes the two knights who are acting in an odd, and frankly embarrassing, mixture of the role of attendant and squire.

It isn’t embarrassing when Asahi, who has known Daichi since childhood, acts as this. It _is_ embarrassing when two near strangers must attend to him and all parties are uncomfortably aware that no one wants to be there.

Daichi doesn’t bother sending letters while on the road; he had sent the necessary ones announcing his travel, but he isn’t certain if Koushi will bother replying. He knows if he writes to Tetsurou or Asahi already, not only will he be teased, but it would be a further mark against them. He must pretend in Suguru’s presence to be utterly unfazed by their absence.

At the very least, their slow travel time is spent wisely: Daichi must learn how to stand on his own feet, all while telling the truth, and _not_ losing his famous temper.

“They just force you not to _lie_ , not necessarily tell the truth,” Suguru says, tone dry, and taps the charmed metal on Daichi’s wrists.

“Isn’t that what the truth is?” Koutarou asks.

Suguru, for some reason, seems completely at ease being in a confined carriage space with Koutarou. Suguru has no combat knowledge outside of textbooks, and thanks to a famously quick spat between he and Tetsurou, Daichi knows he’s not a fighter in any sense. He’s not magical, either.

“Truth can mean anything to anyone,” Suguru replies with a curled lip. “If it weren’t so absolutely necessary for the Prince to learn this, I’d spend a day in these and give you a real show.”

“If we stop somewhere and get more metal, I’ll magic some for you,” Koutarou offers.

It’s difficult to tell if Suguru is amused or annoyed with him. Daichi thinks he himself is amused. He and Koutarou have relaxed into something the slightest bit more familiar, a return to old comforts, for the journey. He rather thinks Koutarou’s prodding of Suguru is a show itself for his benefit.

“Let’s not waste resources or time, hm?” Suguru simpers, and goes as far as to pat Koutarou’s knee consolingly.

Koutarou stares at his leg in awe. Rare are the people who casually initiate contact with a witch.

Daichi looks between them. This could be good practice. “I’ve wondered,” he begins, cautious, “what fuels your cavalier attitude toward witches. Is it only your upbringing?”

“You could have been less blunt. Honesty doesn’t mean you lose your tongue in other ways,” Suguru replies.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, because I’m surprised you haven’t remembered. Or have I not been worthy of your notice unless directly under your nose, my lord?”

“Hey, you can’t talk that way to him!” Koutarou exclaims, not with any true anger, but most of his outbursts still send palace staff scurrying.

Suguru, however, barely spares him a look before tapping Daichi’s cuff again. “Keep talking, my lord. Practice, and don’t be blunt for the sake of avoidance.”

Daichi sets a chin in hand, feigning boredom. These cuffs don’t force the wearer to speak, and getting caught in a lie wouldn’t be totally disastrous. Probably. But this is Suguru, who could charm the fangs out of a snake—and then use them himself later. Any information past frivolities would be dangerous.

“I don’t know anyone who came with us—their names, I mean,” he hastily corrects as he feels the oddest twinge in his wrists. He doesn’t know how to explain it, except it had sounded like a _threat_. Yet there’d been no sound, no movement, no shift in weight. “I’m very bad with names. Usually I rely on Asahi, or perhaps Tetsurou, but this is stressing me. Help would be appreciated if you are acting in my advisor’s stead.”

“I could write a biography on anyone here,” Suguru replies, “but they’re beneath you, my lord. Focus on more important tasks.”

“I _like_ knowing who I’m with. I enjoy knowing my staff. We’re to be stuck with each other until this is over, and that means I don’t want strangers in my midst.”

“This won’t do,” murmurs Suguru, largely to himself, and Daichi arches an eyebrow. “You need to learn how to speak even without comfort or stability. Setaria isn’t going to give you this benefit. Tell me about General Sugawara.”

Daichi stares at him, and Suguru calmly stares back.

“I… don’t want to,” Daichi says, and no sooner have the words left his lips than he’s jerked forward by incredible weight on his forearms. He narrowly avoids headbutting Suguru, and his hands _thunk_ to the carriage floor, bending him at an uncomfortable angle.

He’d had no idea these were so _heavy_! Daichi thinks himself a strong man, but there’s no hope of lifting these, and the pain in his spine is only rivaled by that in his shoulders from the initial pull. If done wrong, this could yank someone’s arms from their sockets. These were a tool of _peace_?

“I _do_ want to talk about Koushi,” Daichi grits out, and immediately, he’s released. He rubs his back first, groaning, and cautiously sits up. “These damned things are worse than I’d ever thought.”

“You didn’t have to use his personal name. That’s telling,” Suguru drawls.

He doesn’t have an accent like Tetsurou, and in fact sounds perfectly composed at all times. Too composed; he sounds fake. But this stirs some dim memory in Daichi’s mind. The Amicoran court is not the same chaotic mix as the Setarian council (apparently, considering Koushi’s birthplace), and good, real Amicoran blood is something to be proud of.

But there are two people, not born on Amicoran land, who have worked their way, rightfully, into their positions, that the King has allowed to hold rank and offer their worth to their new country.

One of them is sitting in front of him now.

“You’re from the west,” Daichi says slowly, uncertain if guessing will activate magics if he is unsure of himself. Nothing happens, mercifully.

“And you’re soft on General Sugawara,” Suguru returns.

Daichi smiles. “This isn’t fresh news to anyone, advisor.”

 

—

 

Daichi, for his temper and pride and inability to remember names, _is_ a sharp student. Explained properly, he can pick up most theories quickly, and once he _does_ recall something, it’s committed to his memory. Suguru may seem surprised—Koutarou is politely impressed—but Daichi can be taught, and easily, and he is successfully learning how to speak while honest.

As if reassured by this, Suguru opens up, and offers clever insights to help. He doesn’t need to. His father certainly never ordered him to go this extra step. But, if Daichi were to hazard a guess, he would believe that Suguru finds all of this word work _fun_.

“Prepare a statement you can say to anyone about General Sugawara. Memorize it. I want you able to say something utterly truthful and utterly useless at the slightest provocation, because the Lord-General _will_ press you about him. Perhaps he will himself. You must be prepared,” Suguru tells him, but there is a glint in his sly eyes, like a predator looking forward to a particularly good hunt.

“You’re really looking forward to going up against the Lord-General, aren’t you?” Koutarou asks.

“Yes,” Suguru replies, just as simply.

“A statement, hm,” Daichi murmurs, thoughtful, and wonders at condensing his complicated feelings for Koushi down into a single sentence. A single _true_ sentence. Something that would sate curious Generals, something he could say equally to both friend and foe.

Suguru doesn’t even give him the chance to mull it over. “If I may, my lord,” he says, with a rare slip of eagerness entering into both voice and body language as he leans forward, “I’m going to take a gamble, but if it pays off, we have a very valuable lead on the Lord-General.”

Daichi doesn’t like gambles. He likes them even less when up against the Lord-General’s wit. “What are you doing?”

“Close your eyes. Lord Witch, may I be so bold as to ask a favor?”

“A favor?” Koutarou asks as if the notion baffles him.

“Magic.”

“ _What_ are you doing?!” Daichi asks, but Suguru puts a hand over his eyes, and Daichi closes them again, albeit with great aggravation. _What does he need magic for?_ They’re in a carriage together—opulent, to be sure, for the traveling Prince—but a single carriage nonetheless. One they can’t damage. Magic past the cuffs is not a good idea.

He can hear low whispers, murmurs of _something_ , and then Suguru’s hand returns to lightly touch his wrist, just below the cuff. “It’s a relaxation charm, my lord. If we can do this, you’ll gain a valuable tool in the weeks to come. But I cannot prepare you, and I need you to blindly trust me.”

“I would rather throw myself from the moving carriage. I would rather be _under_ the moving carriage,” Daichi replies. Honestly, of course.

“It’s okay, Daichi,” Koutarou says, quietly, right by his ear. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Daichi believes him. But he is not reassured.

Tension drips out of his shoulders, however, and he stops grinding his teeth. Daichi sighs, and exhales out stress even he had been unaware he’d been carrying. It does feel better.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Suguru orders, soft as silk. “And I want you to picture General Sugawara. I want you to picture _Koushi_ , as you know him, in your mind.”

Daichi doesn’t _know_ why he’s indulging Suguru of all people, but Koutarou’s magic keeps him from arguing, or really thinking it’s all that bad of an idea. Koutarou’s hand is on his thigh, he thinks, and he can feel his body heat beside him. Something smells faintly _nice_ in the carriage—familiar, in the most distant of ways.

He pictures Koushi in his mind’s eye.

Koushi, with his pretty, silverite hair, fluffy and wild if he would allow it. Thick and soft and with the barest amount of curl.

Koushi, with his doe eyes, the color of cinnamon and brass and warm mahogany. Eyes that crinkle so easily in smiling, but flash in anger. Expressive, and handsome, and something Daichi finds he misses.

Koushi, with bare feet, and shirt undone, and bruises on his wrists. Koushi, hair matted from sweat and humidity, grinning bright with flushed cheeks. Koushi, wary and guarded and still talking of Canuste so fondly. Koushi, with cold eyes and hair slicked back and dark uniform done up to his chin with gleaming buttons.

Daichi finds he misses him.

“Think not of the treaty,” Suguru purrs. Daichi hadn’t even thought of the political weight Koushi always carries with him; Daichi misses the man himself, independent of their stations. “Just of Koushi, the one you’re so attached to. There’s reason for this, yes? You are not a man with tastes so simple as to lust over pretty eyes. You’re a good judge of character, and you’ve found goodness in Koushi, and I want you to think of that.”

Koushi’s letters, full of welcome distraction and helpful advice. Koushi, talking him through the logistics of truth-telling cuffs months before Suguru ever inserted himself into Daichi’s affairs. Koushi trying to show Daichi how to hold himself in a fight, with fingers splayed on his hips and chest pressed to his back.

It is so, so easy to lose himself in the man. Just Koushi. Not a General, not from Setaria, not with knives hidden up his sleeves.

“Think of a future with him,” Suguru whispers. “Think of a time without other powers vying for your attention. Think of showing him the splendors of Amicora.”

Daichi has desperately wanted to show Koushi the sea. The southern coasts are beautiful, especially in the bright summer months. Koushi’s fair skin would burn, but Daichi knows what creams to soothe him, and the summer palace is Daichi’s favorite.

“Think of a time, in the future, when you could do this.”

After the treaty is decided. After Daichi’s trip—after his _reunion_ with Koushi. His heart thuds rapidly in his chest at the realization of the reunion, but Koutarou’s steady presence soothes him almost immediately. Daichi only registers the delight he takes in the thought.

After the treaty means after the marriage.

Concern and trepidation eats at him, but Koutarou banishes them easily, and Daichi is left with curious thoughts about the life of a married man. His father and mother had been happy. Daichi has enjoyed courtship, the act of pursuing or being pursued; the amount of attention and affection necessary to the process has always tugged at the romance in his heart. Gifts of flowers, jewelry, fine clothing. Sharing food and bed spaces. Wholesome love, trust, and devotion.

Marriage itself is not the enemy. Marriage itself would be nice.

“Tell me what you think of Koushi,” Suguru whispers, little more than a breath, “tell me what you think of spending a future with him.”

“I look forward to it,” Daichi replies.

The silence is expectant. Daichi opens bleary eyes, finding the carriage swimming around him, but Suguru’s grin is wide and sly. “Elaborate,” Suguru says with barely concealed glee.

“I look forward to marrying Koushi,” Daichi says. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, but the words taste sweet.

His hands remain folded limply in his lap.

Suguru’s grin widens further. He looks like he may burst into laughter. “We can work on the wording later. Clear your head, my lord, and realize you’ve gained a very valuable weapon against the Lord-General. More importantly, you’ve taken away one of _hers_.”

 

—

 

“I look forward to my marriage with General Sugawara,” Daichi dutifully recites, staring out the window. He feels that twinge again, but the magic doesn’t catch him. “It’s not going to last. If my mind is my own, then I cannot forget the ramifications of the—”

“We can’t magic you into oblivion every time we want you to be a sappy romantic,” Suguru cuts in.

“That would be funny, though,” Koutarou remarks. Suguru sighs. “It _would_. Imagine how much strife we could avoid if we could just magic the lot of them.”

“I don’t want to see an amorous Lord-General,” Daichi bites out and squeezes his eyes shut in pain at the very thought. “I _already_ saw an amorous Koushi and Tooru, they were bad enough.”

His wrists drop to the floor and Daichi bends with a yelp.

“Hang onto those fond feelings, will you?” Suguru asks with the kind of airy tone Daichi hates most. “They’ll be your saving grace. If you don’t fear the marriage, and if you can _tell that_ to the Lord-General, then you take away her power. Don’t go souring your precious thoughts of _Koushi_ now.”

“Don’t say his name,” Daichi mutters as Koutarou helps him back up.

“I’ll allow you your personal names and fond feelings, so long as they help.”

 _Knights, military commanders, spy. I look forward to my marriage with General Sugawara. Knights, commanders, and a spy…_ Daichi’s thoughts are as circular and unhelpful as ever. The solution to the blood reparations continues to elude him. So does any attempt at a grab for power. Only Suguru seems to be making any headway, which is a disgusting thought in itself.

But at least he knows how to rouse Daichi’s inner romantic. For all of his simpering and falsity, Suguru knows human emotion. He knows how fond feelings work, and more importantly, how to harness even that as a weapon in this war.

When dusk hits, and the caravan stops to set up camp for the night, Daichi’s world is yet again toppled over by the little witch named Kenma.

“M-My lord, my lord! An urgent letter has arrived from the palace!”

Daichi, mid-stretch, turns in bewilderment at the man running up. He doesn’t bow so much as bend and pant, but he offers the letter with the utmost respect.

Daichi recognizes his father’s seal at once.

He takes the letter as calmly as he can, though his heart is already racing. Koutarou bounces over his shoulder, craning his neck at strange angles to try to read, and Suguru watches them both with a closed-off expression. Those near enough to hear the exclamation linger, hoping for news or gossip, but Morisuke chases them off as soon as he arrives.

“You have work to do! The Prince will make an announcement, _if_ pertinent!” the healer barks.

Daichi breaks the wax seal and moves to a spot where he can still get light from the setting sun. Koutarou follows him, but this time at more of a distance, rubbing his nose with a confused frown.

The handwriting is incorrect.

Daichi squints at the short letter—only a page, and not even filled—and tries to make sense of this. There is no salutation or proper address. Even his father still addresses the rare letter between them with fond but proper titling.

 

_Burn this letter after you commit it to memory. You have an opportunity you must seize, but before you make it to Setaria. Tetsurou has informed me of something vital to Daishou’s character, so I will outline how you progress. You will only have one chance. You must succeed._

 

The brisk writing is familiar in tone, but Daichi reads it over a few times before he realizes this letter must be _Kenma’s_.

 He turns the letter over again to examine the seal. It is certainly his father’s. Either Kenma stole it, which is unlikely even for him, or witches can replicate them. The latter seems likely, and also seems something useful to remember.

 

_Daishou and Oiwake are at odds but both are advisors of the King. You can sway Daishou to your side - he can become your spymaster. There is no reason for the King to suspect him if he has already risen to such a rank, given where he grew up and what he is. Maybe because of where he grew up. You know what I mean. You cannot reply to this letter, but has Daishou expressed any knowledge of witches he shouldn’t?_

_I apologize, Daichi. I should have thought of this sooner._

 

 _He should have thought of_ Suguru _as an ally sooner?_ Daichi mentally scoffs. He carefully keeps both Suguru and Morisuke in his peripherals, to ensure no one else reads this letter.

But he catches Koutarou floating over him, reading not over his shoulder, but over his _head_.

“ _Kou_!” Daichi scolds, terrified and angry. He hadn’t even read through the letter once himself yet. “Get _down_!”

Koutarou alights again, rubbing his nose, expression distant. Daichi realizes it must not have smelled like his father. Something else to remember about witches.

 

_Sway Daishou to your side. Use Koutarou if you must. I don’t believe you’ll need him, but I know this is a lot to ask of you. In order to win Daishou’s loyalty - as much as he can be loyal - you must promise him what he wants. Your father won’t do it, and Daishou knows this. He is loyal to power, so you must show him yours._

 

Kenma’s list of what Suguru wants is very short: two items, and the first being a vague but completely correct “ _power_ ”.

Daichi doesn’t like the thought of Suguru with _more_ power, much less power in Daichi’s own circle, but he knows there are worse costs to pay.

But the other item makes everything come into startling focus.

And for the first time, Daichi thinks he can do this.

 

—

 

“I could _fly_ , you know,” Koutarou hisses in his ear. His grip is like iron around Daichi’s waist. “This is uncomfortable! Not that you are a bad rider, I think sometimes you can talk to animals Daichi, you’re very good. But I don’t _like_ being on a horse!”

Daichi has experience with people who don’t like riding horses. He ignores Koutarou.

Captain’s hooves are loud in the dark of the night, but Daichi wishes for speed and distance, not stealth. And that is what his stallion is here for.

There is, however, the advantage of a black horse in the night, which means once they come to a stop, it will be easier to find some place to hide.

Daichi didn’t take a map, but he isn’t going _too_ far from camp, and plans to be back with the morning light. They can sleep in the carriage tomorrow if need be. So long as they were only followed by a single person, no one else needs to know the Crown Prince and Court Witch are absconding.

He finds an offshoot of the road and Captain veers down it without a hitch in his gait. Daichi waits, just a little longer, before pulling his horse into a trot, then a stop. The trees are sparser here, but still enough to shield them from any casual passersby, if such a thing exists in the middle of the night so far from any towns. Koutarou happily slides off the horse, but Daichi remains mounted.

“Koutarou, you remember what we’re here for?”

“Something very foolish that will piss off His Majesty.”

 _Not incorrect_ , Daichi muses, and waits until he hears the sound of distant hoofbeats.

Of course, Suguru is cautious, but it is a still night and Daichi had been moving fast. There is no way to gallop quietly. The trees don’t block all of the noise, even as Suguru slows, and Daichi knows when he’s approaching.

Suguru steps into sight on one of the dappled geldings belonging to the knights.

His hair is in disarray from the ride and he’s in little more than a coat and boots overtop his loose sleep clothes. His chest is unbound. He does not bother with any pretense. “Sneaking off for a midnight tryst in a forest? Come now, Daichi, the envoy knows of your tastes by now.”

“And yet, you followed us alone,” Daichi calls back. He sits tall in Captain’s saddle.

Suguru slowly takes in Daichi’s appearance: dressed in finery, coronet atop his hair. The Prince stands before him in the closest thing to full regalia as he could manage tonight. Suguru spares him a flat look. “The Prince is here to win me from beneath the King’s nose, is he?”

“You and I both know you followed me because you were interested in how I would do it.” Daichi makes Captain pace in front of him, the stallion throwing his head and eyeing the gelding. Daichi allows his horse to show off just as much as he is. “And you and I both know I can and will offer you power.”

“Power now, with the reigning King, or power in the future, with the future King. Investments can be wise, but rarely at the cost of present strength,” Suguru replies without inflection. “But you wouldn’t want me to give up my current position, now would you.”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“You did not come all the way out here to offer me power,” Suguru points out.

“No, I didn’t,” Daichi agrees. “I’m here to give you what you actually want in life.”

Suguru lets out a wild laugh. It carries in the still night, and Koutarou shakes his head like a dog hearing a shrill noise. “I know we have not gotten the chance to speak much personally, Highness, but have you _met_ me? I make no secret of my ambitions. It’s what people expect of me, and I aim to please, don’t I?”

Daichi turns his horse and paces a little nearer. Suguru’s horse nickers, nervous, but Suguru remains as stone on the saddle. “With my union to a Setarian General, who knows how many marriage laws and customs will have to change to soothe public morale and paint this in a better light,” Daichi says, quiet and composed.

Suguru goes rigid.

Suguru is young and had been born in a far-flung land and made the supreme mistake of not keeping certain secrets to himself. He has attained rank, but there is a ceiling he cannot pass. Not by himself.

“And if I refuse tonight,” Suguru says, glancing halfway over to where Koutarou waits, “am I to be killed? His Majesty would be very insulted. I didn’t think you wished for a coup.”

“I don’t, but we’re headed to enemy territory, aren’t we?” Daichi flippantly replies.

“You’re trying to achieve peace. Why would you…”

Suguru trails off, eyes going wide in realization.

Daichi inclines his head. “My father already hates Setaria, and I’m sure he would be furious on behalf of your death. I’m sure he would gladly get into future shouting matches with the Lord-General. But that doesn’t change things, does it? I’m still the one desiring peace, and his feelings would not change. However, I can’t help but wonder, wouldn’t that be a blessing in disguise for him?”

Suguru stares at him, mute, mouth pressed into a thin, grim line.

“I know from experience how exhausting bickering advisors are,” Daichi says with a sidelong glance at Koutarou. He has the grace to appear ashamed. “And I know my father likes a tight control of information. If, say, certain parties had come into knowledge that they shouldn’t—”

“You knew too,” Suguru blurts out. A sign of panic—his first one. Daichi feels reassured, but hates himself for it. Suguru’s horse prances away from Daichi’s slow advance, and Suguru looks just as nervous as his mount. “His Majesty knows you know.”

“I’m his son,” Daichi coldly points out, “and only heir. I’m not expendable.”

They are near enough now for Daichi to see the way Suguru has begun sweating. His skin gleams, sickly, in the sliver of moonlight overhead. “I’m valuable,” Suguru says, little more than a whisper, “but becoming your spy does not guarantee my safety from your father. You are escaping only because your father fears keeping secrets more than confronting you.”

Then, with a glint in his eye, Suguru unexpectedly smiles at him.

Daichi does not start, but he swallows thickly, and does his best to maintain a lack of expression.

“Do you know how to tell witches from humans on sight?” Suguru purrs.

Daichi gapes at him, then looks to Koutarou. The witch turns from them: a sure sign of Suguru’s truth.

“His Majesty doesn’t know this. He knows where I was born and I’m sure he takes my body as some sign of foul magic in my childhood. But, my lord, do _you_ know the secret? Wouldn’t that be a useful skill in this power bid of yours?”

 _He knows who the witches are?_ He’d more or less confessed to knowledge of Kenma, and that had backfired, if the King is looking to keep his secrets to himself. Daichi, however, _needs_ that knowledge. Daichi tightens his grip on Captain’s reins. “I’m offering you the position of spymaster and highest advisor when I ascend to the throne,” Daichi says, too quickly, and Suguru’s smile widens. “I’m offering you the sanction of a marriage to Lady Yamaka. I’m offering you protection from my father.”

Suguru regards him for a long, tense minute. Daichi is certain he is sweating now, too.

“You gave in too quickly,” Suguru tells him.

Daichi’s heart drops from his ribs, and Koutarou moves in, grin bright and sharp in the night.

“You must always appear as if you hold all of the power in any situation. Don’t panic, don’t speak hastily, and don’t make long lists like that until you’re certain you’ve won.” Suguru’s shoulders slump, and he sighs, as if disappointed. “You started very strongly, my lord. I had not anticipated any knowledge of Lady Mika, so I’m impressed. Most men wouldn’t consider that a viable option for threatening someone.”

Daichi spares him a rueful smile. He’s still sweating. “I believe in the power of love.”

Suguru’s return smile is twice as sweet and three times as poisonous. “I suppose you’ll have to, to face what you’re facing, my lord. Although—your delivery was sound, in the beginning, but your presentation was all wrong! You don’t need the finery _or_ coronet to remind anyone you’re the Prince. You shouldn’t have to put on airs. The warhorse turned out to be useful in intimidation tactics, but—”

“Are you,” Koutarou breaks in, hesitant but still poised to strike, “lecturing Daichi?”

Suguru manages to simultaneously look down his nose at the floating witch _and_ award Daichi a winning smile. “Never bring a witch to these things, either! Normal men would be too scared of them, and not scared enough of you. You want others to fear you, not the weapon you wield.”

“You’re not a normal man?” Koutarou asks.

Suguru frowns and pulls his loose shirt tighter across his chest. “I meant to say that humans who _hadn’t_ grown up in witch territories would be petrified. I am better than that.”

“You’ve gotten this far,” Daichi muses, and that soothes Suguru enough to break the remaining tension of the scene. “Does this mean I have your loyalty? I’ll need to you swear fealty to me.”

“Again with the frank questions! Sometimes, you’re far too direct for your own good.”

“I’ve been telling him that for years,” Koutarou mutters.

Daichi glares at him, but Koutarou only smiles, bright as the day.

Suguru reaches across and grabs Daichi’s wrist. “ _These_ are all you truly needed tonight. You ought to have ignored the posturing and instead rolled up your sleeves. Sincerity does still speak loudly, even against people like me, my lord.” He pulls Daichi’s sleeve up for him, and the slight moonlight glints off of the metal of the cuffs. “You were honest,” Suguru mumbles and rubs his thumb across it. The metal does not smear. “You’re honest in helping me. Honesty can be a weapon as sharp as any sword, my lord. Do remember that in the future.”

In an effort to maintain his pride, Suguru rides ahead of them. The trip back toward camp is slower. Koutarou floats alongside Captain, eyes fixed on the figure before them. His hands have regrown to the knuckles now, and small stumps where his thumbs will be.

He presses his scar tissue hand against the exposed metal of Daichi’s cuff, reactivating the magic within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: They reach Setaria, even with hitches along the way, and Daichi is reunited with Koushi.


	19. on the battlefield of dust and blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your Highness,” Koushi murmurs, shaking his hand with a frail grip.
> 
> That stings more than it ought to.

The land is still charred.

It has been five years since the Black Forest had been razed in a battle. Daichi has seen the reports, of the attack and since then. Nothing has been able to grow here, Daichi knows, but he had not expected it to look as if the battle had taken place the day before. He would not have been surprised if smoke were still coming out of the husks of tree trunks.

There are no animals here, nor any towns. The nearest one had been abandoned and never reclaimed; they’d passed through it that morning.

The entire province has suffered in this war; it is the one that borders Setaria to the north, and many major battles have taken place here in the course of the war. But the Black Forest had been significant due to a number of shrines and supposed miracles that had happened in the past. Culturally, it had been a blow beyond the burning of many acres of trees.

 _What could have done this_ , he wants to ask, but he knows. He knows, and yet he does _not_ know, because he cannot grasp the sheer expanse of the charred land before him. Captain snorts and shifts at whatever smell the wind brings them of the ruined land.

A witch had done this. A witch had done this, themselves, in a single day.

There had been six instances of using witches for large-scale attacks in the war. Three instances on each side. The razing of the Black Forest had been in direct retaliation for what Koutarou had done to the Icholly River Valley; the attacks had been less than a week apart, and thousands of soldiers had died on each side. Both had been the largest attacks up until that point in the war. No other use of witches for such warfare has been recorded since.

Daichi remembers when Koutarou had had to leave the palace for this, though he had only learned of the reason after the fact. He remembers yelling at his father, and he remembers being yelled at in return. Daichi had raised his voice for the sake of the dead soldiers and tragedy of the forest.

He had not argued for Koutarou’s sake.

Koutarou isn’t with him now. It’d been a two hour ride to visit, but Daichi had insisted. Only a small party had come: Suguru, one of the knights, and two soldiers. Suguru appears unfazed, but even the other three, hardened with age and experience in the war, seem uncomfortable with this sight. Daichi himself feels ill.

He’s never seen any of this firsthand. He makes note to take a detour to the Icholly River Valley on the journey back to Amicora.

 

—

 

Stepping onto Setarian soil should feel stranger. It has been a couple years since Daichi had last left Amicora, but he’s never been on a trip like this without his father, or Tetsurou or Asahi. He’s coming to Setaria to end a war.

He only has to finalize the damned treaty first.

It’s still quiet, unnaturally so. The ravages of war lay all around them, and have for the past several days of travel: burned fields and forests, deserted homes, shoddily marked graves. Daichi has become numbed to it already. It’s so much, but it’s so repetitive. He can’t grasp fourteen years of this.

This close to the border, Setaria is just like Amicora. The land slopes gently, hills turning into low mountains in the distance to their left, a river winding its way on their right. There are still the marks of war here. The border towns on both sides had been all but destroyed.

There are signs of travel, too, signs of troops pulled away. The ceasefire is fragile and unofficial, but it’s been long enough that neither side wishes to be directly across from each other longer than they must. They’ve all pulled back to old fortresses, or to better-defended towns, camps made far from any proper front. A well-deserved rest. Daichi hopes to make it permanent.

“The air feels heavier here,” one of the knights remarks, astride his horse, the pretty gelding.

“Must be all of the Setarian arrogance. I’m sure it wafts down from the capital in waves,” Morisuke replies without looking up from his book. Daichi can see drawings of plants on the inside.

Koutarou snorts, possibly in amusement. They all have been traveling together long enough that such sudden sounds from him don’t startle anyone anymore. Most of the horses are used to him as well. “You have no idea what Setaria smells like,” Koutarou teases, grinning wide and smug.

“I didn’t _want_ to know,” Morisuke replies.

“Yet here you are,” the knight points out.

The healer falls silent, and angrily turns a page in his book.

Daichi resumes leaning out the open window. Suguru chats animatedly with the acting captain, up at the head of their entourage, all sweet smiles and earnest friendliness. Daichi still doesn’t trust the man, but he does trust that he’ll maintain his secrecy.

He still hasn’t sworn fealty, however.

Setaria is cooler, even at the border. Autumn is coming, and they’ve already traveled farther north than Daichi usually prefers, but within the stuffy carriage, Daichi welcomes the chill to the air. It keeps his head clear and mind sharp.

 _I look forward to my marriage with General Sugawara_ , he recites to himself.

Camp is made that night with slightly more haste than usual, and the tents and fires are slightly closer together than before. Being on enemy soil isn’t helping morale, but Daichi wishes it were easier to remember that they’re here for peace. Soon, Setaria won’t be their enemy. It will be difficult to erase years’ worth of distrust and hate, but stopping the war will go a long way.

 

—

 

Daichi awakes to shouts and gunshots.

He tears himself out of bed and throws on his boots. The morning is chill, and he thinks it’s still reasonably dark out, though he can’t tell with any true accuracy through the walls of his tent. He hesitates over the pistol on his table, and ends up grabbing his short sword instead. If there’s shouting, then they’re already close.

He moves to throw open the flaps of his tent, and a strong arm wraps itself around his shoulders. A half-formed hand clamps itself over his mouth, and he reels back in such revulsion he nearly knocks them both backward.

“ _Shh_!” Koutarou hisses in his ear.

Outside, it doesn’t sound like a fight. Not that Daichi is attuned to what battles sound like, but while there are certainly worrying noises, there’s no clash of metal or further gunshots.

He hears someone speaking, one voice ringing out loudly, but he can’t make out anything clearly aside from the authority in its tone.

“Setaria,” Koutarou whispers, little more than a breath.

 _We’re here on official business,_ Daichi thinks angrily. _They have no right to attack us. They can’t be attacking us. This isn’t right._

Heavy footsteps come toward their tent, and Daichi can’t help but hold his breath. But when he blinks, they’re not in the tent, and instead float several hundred feet off the ground. He cling to Koutarou on reflex, feet dangling over empty air. The people below are just dots, but most of them are in the dark uniforms of Setaria.

“I don’t smell any blood,” Koutarou tells him, at normal volume now. He doesn’t seem at all concerned with how tightly Daichi holds him. “I think those had been warning shots, earlier. This isn’t a fight.”

“We’re _supposed_ to be here. Why is there an altercation at all.”

“Misunderstanding?” Koutarou guesses. He shrugs, and the movement jostles Daichi. He wraps himself impossibly tighter around Koutarou’s form. “I won’t drop you, Daichi. We can go down, on your order.”

“They’re looking for me,” he reasons. He’d very much like to touch ground again.

“I think… _that_ one is in charge!” Koutarou announces, pointing with a finger only a joint long, and next thing Daichi knows, he’s on solid ground again.

He nearly collapses, both from vertigo and relief. Koutarou holds him upright.

The woman on the horse startles at their sudden appearance. Her beauty is breathtaking, and for a moment, Daichi can only stare up at her; her hair, almost as black as her uniform, falls loosely over her shoulders and contrasts with her snow-pale skin and eyes the color and temperature of ice.

After a long beat, both of them measuring the other, she says, “Your Highness,” with the barest incline of her head.

Daichi recognizes her from her portrait, though it does not do her justice. Daichi wonders if the official painter of Setaria manages to capture _anyone_ properly. “General Shimizu,” he says as levelly as he can manage. “To what do I owe the delight of such a morning’s start?”

She glances around herself, as if taking stock. “Then… this is a misunderstanding. I apologize deeply, Your Highness.”

“One hell of a misunderstanding, General,” Suguru says, appearing at Daichi’s elbow. “You marched into my lord’s camp as if a conquering force, demanded our compliance, and searched through our tents without permission. You’ve gravely insulted my lord.”

Daichi does not feel gravely insulted. He’d rather merely clear the air between them and get on with these hellish travels.

“With the ceasefire as tentative as it seems, we could not abide such a large caravan flying Amicoran colors to simply traipse through. You’re less than two miles from our encampment,” General Shimizu replies.

“Do we look like troops to you?” Suguru demands.

She scans over the camp again. Her eyes linger on Koutarou, then Daichi. “No,” she allows. “I deeply apologize again, Your Highness.”

Daichi puts out a hand to stop Suguru from speaking again. “It is already forgiven, General. I trust all my people are unharmed?”

“There were no altercations. We wished to identify who you were.”

“You now know who I am. You may send word to the capital of my approach, if you’d like, to prevent further misunderstandings.”

General Shimizu turns from him, as much as propriety allows. She doesn’t appear shamed, but she very delicately tells him, “I was not informed you were taking this route north. We had anticipated the main road through Kolhus.”

Daichi keeps his expression impassive, though his cheeks flame. He had been the one to reroute them so he could see the Black Forest. “That is farther north. We can reroute back, if Setaria would prefer, but it would take more time than I’d personally like to spare on travel.”

“I understand, Your Highness. Please, allow me to escort you to the capital. I am set to return with this division soon, so it is no matter to do this now. It is the least Setaria could do to apologize for this misunderstanding.”

 

—

 

In the past, when Daichi envisioned coming into the Setarian capital of Vierage with an army at his heels, he had not thought it would be the Setarian Ivory Southern Army. Usually the uniforms had been white. He feels as if he has a flock of crows at his back with all of the black surrounding him.

Morisuke acts as if he’s in hell, suffering gravely for some unknown sins of his past.

Suguru is acting as if this may be the highest point of his life, to lord over so many people.

Daichi cannot get a read on Koutarou’s mood, but he has caught him spooking Setarian soldiers more than once, so he tentatively hopes this means his spirits are high as well. A morose healer is bad enough.

General Shimizu—Daichi for the life of him cannot remember her given name, but perhaps it’s for the best, as the woman puts up such an impenetrable wall he has no hope of warming to her—is polite company, but a woman of few words. They dine together in the evenings. She explains the very, _very_ basic outline of her army and commanding officers beneath her. She has the faintest touch of an accent, crisp on her vowels and hard on her consonants. Despite such lovely company, Daichi finds himself missing a softer accent and warmer eyes.

Even with her demeanor, she is proper and not unpleasant to spend time with. General Shimizu can really only be eight or nine years older than he is, at most, and he finds his mind drifting at times. _Why not her? Is Setaria really so spiteful? Is this the Lord-General’s insistence?_

They are at the capital before he can make any headway on any of the thoughts plaguing him.

Suguru still has not sworn fealty.

Daichi does not know what to make of General Shimizu as a woman.

He has no answer for the blood reparations.

He has no method to circumvent a lack of blood heir.

He has nothing to offer the Lord-General other than his presence. He prays this is not complicity in her schemes.

Yet, they arrive all the same.

 

—

 

The Setarian capital is large, larger even than Amicora’s, in both population and size. It is a heavily industrial city, with too many shops to count, large-scale smithing belching black smoke into the dreary skies, and a shockingly grid-like array of paved roads that instead of making things feel more organized, only makes Daichi feel like he’s lost in a labyrinth.

Much of the architecture of the more important buildings is older, leading to a conflict of style in areas they pass. He knows much of it is leftover from before the revolution that installed the Council of Generals at the head of the state. The Generals’ estate and official headquarters used to be the royal palace, so at least he shouldn’t worry too much about staying in anything unbecoming of a prince.

The public that watches them pass is somber. The war is etched into their faces; Daichi recognizes it even on foreign features. Daichi, in finery, rides Captain, accompanied by General Shimizu. Koutarou is tucked away, inside the carriage halfway back, so Suguru and one of the knights are the only ones at Daichi’s side. He feels oddly naked without his usual attendants.

Morisuke had helped him shave that morning with magic, soothing his pounding headache at the same time, and they’d scrubbed at his travel-worn skin and hair until Daichi felt raw. He looks forward to proper baths, then remembers that they don’t share them here, and his despondency almost makes him slump in the saddle. He has two months of this strange place, and he’s only just gotten here.

At least Koushi is here.

And, one way or another, the end of the peace treaty’s endless drafts.

Daichi is resigned to marrying a man. He is not resigned to assassinating him later, nor is he resigned to handing over his father and senior staff to be executed, but he will give Setaria their one victory.

The Generals’ estate looms in the center of the city, surrounded by old gardens, half of which are now public squares and parks. The moat has remained, as does most of the original carvings on the outside of the building, as far as he can tell. It’s a pretty building, but it looks out of place here, especially with the grey skies and wet weather.

The multitude of black uniforms hardly improves his mood.

Four figures stand in the open main doors of the old palace. Daichi and General Shimizu ride around the fountain, and Daichi subtly tries to see who they are. Silver hair on one, thank the stars, but this is still… odd. With the General beside him, that’s only five. He’s supposed to be formally introduced to the Council as a whole on this trip, not to mention bicker with _all_ of them over this damned treaty. Some may be away, in the field as General Shimizu had been, but they should be on their way back, and they’re hardly early.

The four Generals in the doorway stand at attention as Daichi rides up.

General Shimizu makes the introductions, as she’d requested, though Daichi has confused feelings about a Setarian announcing him. “All hail the Crown Prince, His Highness Daichi of Amicora!”

Daichi, astride his warhorse and finally even with the doorway, nods down to the Generals before him. All stand at attention for a moment. Daichi is mildly dismayed to find that he only has met Koushi before—the other three are strangers, only known to him in reports. And he knows how poorly reports describe people.

Generals Sugawara, Tanaka, Naoi, and Oikawa.

The elder.

Even if Daichi had never seen any official reports or paintings or descriptions, Daichi would at once know she is the Lord-General’s daughter. She looks like a shorter, younger version of the woman, albeit unscarred and—Daichi blinks in surprise—he thinks with child.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home,” Daichi says, bowing just slightly. “It is an honor to be here as a representative of future peace between our nations.”

He tries to catch Koushi’s eye, perhaps even offer him a fleeting smile, but Koushi stares into middle distance somewhere near Captain’s head. His hair is slicked back, although not bejeweled, and his eyes are tired instead of mirthful. General Naoi seems just as tired, and Daichi recalls the preparations he’d had to fight through for the Generals’ visit to Amicora.

General Oikawa seems to dismiss him entirely—again, must be just like her mother—but to his surprise and immediate discomfort, General Tanaka makes eye contact. And she looks _angry_.

Daichi’s party dismounts and official introductions are made.

It’s a stiff, formal affair. Nothing Daichi is unused to. But he cannot fight the small disappointment in his heart that Koushi doesn’t look happy to see him. He could have at least pretended they weren’t _strangers_. All of both of their countries know they’re calling for a betrothal, so surely decorum is lax. (Daichi had had to deal with _months_ of teasing by his subordinates, after all.)

“Your Highness,” Koushi murmurs, shaking his hand with a frail grip.

That stings more than it ought to.

Daichi catches General Oikawa staring, hard and calculating, at them.

He already wishes he were on the road again.

 

—

 

“I apologize, but the Lord-General is absent. She’s due back the day after tomorrow—she had been in the south to check on our withdrawal lines and receive you,” General Oikawa says. Her name is Mei. It seems far too informal to think of her in those terms—just like her mother. She has little of Tooru’s flair or warmth. This close, Daichi can tell she is definitely pregnant; her uniform is finely made, but not tailored to her growing belly. He tries not to stare.

“No apologies, necessary,” Daichi replies, easily. “I understand that other Generals are set to return soon?”

“Most within the coming week,” she curtly replies. “And we plan on prioritizing the logistics of the wedding, so invitations can be sent out in advance to outside guests. Travel time is always a headache to plan for.”

Daichi makes an agreeable but ultimately noncommittal sound.

“Right in here, Your Highness,” Mei says and gestures him sharply into a room with an open door. It must have been some parlor, when it’d been a palace, for the room is full of windows and what passes for sunlight in this country. The furnishings leave much to be desired, however.

On the table lays a fine box lined with plush velvet. Inside are the magicked cuffs. Daichi had taken off their own the week before, hoping the bruising would disappear in time, and luckily, they’ve mostly faded. He doesn’t look forward to wearing those again.

Daichi folds up his sleeves and extends his bare forearms.

Mei touches him a little as possible.

The magic is familiar to him, but there is still a foreign trace to it, like someone unknown mimicking something he holds dear. It’s not unpleasant, but it is uncomfortable. They’re a little lighter than the Amicoran ones, and he’s grateful for that.

“Thank you for your understanding,” she says with no gratitude in her voice.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Daichi replies with just as little.

 

—

 

“We know General Oikawa—the youngest—insisted we do not mention Koutarou’s presence ourselves. He wasn’t announced, and no one has mentioned him. General Shimizu knows of him, but…” Morisuke scratches his head, his other hand on Daichi’s forearm.

“I could be a _spy_ ,” Koutarou says in awe.

“No, you couldn’t. They have witches of their own. Plural,” Suguru flatly points out. Somehow, he has already obtained some Setarian governmental book. His fingers are covering most of the cover, and it isn’t written in Continental. Daichi hopes he isn’t a scandal walking.

“The magic checks out, and you’ll be fine, my lord, aside from the bruising,” Morisuke says and releases Daichi. “How is your head feeling, though?”

“It’s fine. Whatever you did this morning must still be active.”

“Or you’re so happy at seeing General Sugawara again that you can temporarily forget any stressors,” Suguru remarks. “Your Highness, if you please?”

Daichi watches the charmed metal on his wrists as he recites, “I look forward to my marriage with General Sugawara.” Daichi thinks as hard as he can of his bright memories with Koushi, not the dulled and dark version he’d seen today.

The magic does not catch. They’re still safe. Suguru grins over the foreign cover of his book, and even Morisuke lets out a breath of relief.

Daichi’s personal quarters are well-furnished, but not large, and the bed is firmer than he’s used to. The window is high and narrow, there is no attached bath, although his room does connect directly to Koutarou’s chambers. The rest of his staff are in this wing, similar to how the Setarian envoy had a wing to themselves in Daichi’s palace.

The quarters are merely smaller, and less opulent.

He’s trying not to be spoiled about it.

A knock on the door makes the guard—one of the knights, who Daichi still cannot recall the name of—jump, but it’s just an errand boy, shy and nervous and quick to deliver his message. “General Sugawara would like to invite you for a private dinner tonight!”

Daichi somehow musters the composure to calmly reply, “I would allow this. I’ll expect him to escort me later this evening, as I still have no idea of the layout of your architecture.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “Thank you.”

Suguru snorts into his book, but Morisuke smiles, and the errand boy darts out with a furious blush high on his cheeks.

“I told you to study the layout of the building,” Suguru says dryly.

“And miss out on personal tours? I _vividly_ remember what a hell they had been. I look forward to returning the favor.” It would also be an excuse for easy personal time with each of the Generals, if he played this carefully, and he could gauge each of them in turn.

But first, dinner with his betrothed. Unofficially.

 

—

 

Koushi offers him his arm when he picks him up that evening. Daichi takes it. They exchange pleasantries, distant and proper, and Daichi wonders at the shift in personality. Koushi had already proven himself a decent actor. So which was the act?

Daichi doesn’t press it, as impatient as he is. He speaks neutrally of his travels. The closest he gets to anything personal is a mention of how much he enjoyed their letters, and he could _swear_ that the corner of Koushi’s mouth twitches.

Like most things in this country, the room Koushi escorts him into is comparatively small and spartan. The decor is plainly pleasant. It isn’t enough to be called cozy, however; it feels rather pedestrian, if Daichi were being totally honest. And since he is one word from faceplanting into the worn carpet, he knows to watch his tongue.

Dinner is already laid out for them along a modestly sized table. It is very far from the meals Daichi has shared with his father, too far from each other for proper conversation, much less pleasant company. This part, Daichi already prefers.

Koushi pulls out his chair for him. Daichi raises an eyebrow, but takes his seat, and watches as Koushi doesn’t take the seat opposite, but instead carries his chair _around_ the table to sit close to Daichi, sharing a corner. Daichi stares, unsure, as Koushi primly sits himself, adjusts his napkin, and then _melts_ against the table.

“Everything is horrid!” he exclaims, then flops himself against Daichi’s side.

Daichi bursts out laughing.

“Don’t you laugh at me, _Your Highness_. Do you know what I’ve had to put up with the past several months?! For the record, I could lie and say the sky were melting onto us while the Lord-General and I cavorted around on polar bears. You, however, must watch your tongue very carefully. More carefully than I’ve seen in the past, I hope.” Koushi prods him in the shoulder, then slides his hand down until his is covering Daichi’s.

Daichi entwines their fingers, then brings their hands up so he may kiss the back of Koushi’s. “I’ve missed you, and that’s no lie,” he murmurs.

Koushi beams at him, and Daichi’s heart finally feels at ease in Setaria.

“I’m sure you were wondering, but in case it weren’t obvious, General Oikawa has been haunting me for the past several weeks to ensure I _properly behave_ during your stay here. Considering how they wanted me to act when we first met, you can understand my confusion with the sudden change of heart.”

“I was rather looking forward to playing up the betrothed aspect of things,” Daichi admits. Without staff to attend to them, he helps himself to the food. He believes it would be nice to have a proper meal for the first time in weeks, but he remembers too late that this is _Setaria_.

The ham is over-dry and far too salty. He almost spits it back out.

Koushi laughs in delight at the face he makes. “Oh, this will be a fun stay, indeed! Come now, _Your Highness_ , the pheasant isn’t so bad.” He helps himself to fixing Daichi’s plate, and it’s almost like a picnic, with them each picking what they’d like and laughing between bites.

None of the food is to Daichi’s taste, and he isn’t certain if it’s his southern blood or refined, royal palate. It all tastes odd to him, either too dry, or too heavy, or with a strange taste left on his tongue. But the company more than makes up for it.

“Why are you referring to me by title?” Daichi murmurs, during a lull in which he tries to spare his throat anything further. “We’ve been over this.”

“Because you haven’t called me by name yet, Your Highness,” Koushi replies with sparkling eyes and a mirthful smirk.

“Koushi,” Daichi says, and cups his jaw with his hand. Koushi leans into him. His smile dips into something softer and infinitely more tender. “Brigadier General Koushi.”

“Ah, no. Bad prince.”

“I didn’t know you had ranks amongst yourselves when you visited,” Daichi tells him, then coughs to clear his throat, still smiling.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about us, remember, you spoilt prince. Stick with given names, Daichi,” Koushi purrs. He leans against him, just for a moment, but Daichi’s coughing worsens, and he sits up to offer him a cup. “Rough travels?”

Daichi shakes his head, but just as abruptly as the coughing had come, it’s gone—his throat has closed up, preventing any air.

Spilling the proffered cup, Daichi gasps in vain for air, panic fighting its way into his mind and preventing him from trying to call out.

“ _Daichi_!” Koushi catches him as Daichi pitches to the side, and the last thing he sees are wide, worried cinnamon eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: …


	20. the favorite blood sport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Please, for the love of all that is precious in the world, do not let the next words out of his mouth be that he’s killed anyone,_ Daichi pleads, closing his eyes for a moment to steel himself.

Daichi isn’t aware of anything other than the pounding in his head until someone forces their fingers into his mouth. He hacks with air he doesn’t have, fighting, weakly, on reflex against the grip holding him. His vision swims and he can’t think.

The fingers push deeper until Daichi gags, and push deeper still.

He’s flipped up into a sitting position right before he vomits. His throat burns, unnaturally, even with the acids of his stomach. Daichi coughs, gagging again, but then he can suck in a wet, pained breath. It’s a brief reprieve before he retches again.

He thinks he hears someone speaking, or yelling. He couldn’t tell if a cannon went off near his head. His head pounds twice as loud as his heartbeat in his ears.

He doesn’t realize there had been someone rubbing his back until the hand is ripped away. He catches movement out of the corner of his hazy vision, but as his throat is threatening to close up again, Daichi doesn’t care who it may be.

Someone is yelling, now, certainly. He recognizes the voice. He can’t remember, but he _knows_ , he knows this voice means protection and safety. “…did you _do_?!”

The other voice is softer. It sounds wet, and pained. It swims in and out of Daichi’s limited awareness. “…mixture of agrimony and… hurry up if you…” He doesn’t hear much else other than the sharp yelp of someone in sudden pain.

Someone hauls Daichi upright, and the vertigo is finally enough for him. He succumbs, completely.

 

—

 

Daichi moves in and out of awareness with no sense of time. Everything feels hot, but he doesn’t feel sticky as after a long period of sweating. His throat burns with every weak breath, and his tongue feels swollen and heavy.

He tries to drink when prompted. He coughs most of it back up, and what he can swallow, his stomach loathes him for.

The first person he can reliably recognize is Morisuke.

Daichi cannot know how much time has passed, but his body feels weak and shaky and feverish, and he thinks it has been this way for some time. Morisuke brushes his hair back to feel his forehead, and then places a wet, cool cloth against him. Daichi sighs, and it hurts a little less.

“Don’t try to speak,” Morisuke advises. “You were poisoned, you know. Very nearly died. And on Setarian soil, Highness, for _shame_.” He leans in, closer, and trails magic down Daichi’s throat with a finger. This close, Daichi can see the way the healer’s eyes are shadowed, exhausted. He swallows and thanks him silently for the mercy. “You’re not allowed to die on foreign soil. Healer’s orders.”

He nods, the smallest amount.

Morisuke smiles at him, gently, and Daichi slips back under.

 

—

 

The next time he awakes, the fever has broken and his throat doesn’t protest every breath. Though his head swims, Morisuke helps to sit him up, and he can sip at water without difficulty. It’s tinged black and tastes foul.

“Charcoal,” Morisuke answers without a question. “To help purge the poisons from your body. You’re over the worst of it, my lord, but if I have my way, you’ll be drinking nothing but this for the rest of our hopefully _short_ stay.”

“Short?” Daichi rasps.

Morisuke stares at him, expression utterly impassive. “You suffered through an assassination attempt, my lord, in our enemy’s home.”

“The treaty,” he croaks, even weaker.

Morisuke’s eyes harden.

But he does not argue.

Daichi sips at his disgusting water and tries to collect his fever-scattered thoughts. Poisoned. He’s still in Setaria. Morisuke is here with him, but he doesn’t recall anyone else. Likely barred entry; even in a peace summit, this is Amicora’s problem, and if he’d been poisoned _by_ someone…

“We’re not calling off the peace talks,” Daichi says, clearly, though it pains his sore throat.

“Stubborn,” Morisuke hisses. “Suguru was right. Which is why he’s been talking to everyone in your stead.”

Daichi squeezes his eyes shut and tries to calm himself. Getting upset would worsen his precarious condition.

 _Suguru has been turned loose in Setaria and everyone believes he’s acting in my stead._ Maybe he ought to have died. It could have been a mercy.

“Dramatic fool that he is, he swore fealty to your unconscious body before storming out of here to _yell_ at the nearest General. Which turned out to be General Tanaka. They got into a screaming match, and, terribly enough, Suguru won. No one outside of our envoy has stepped foot in our wing since,” Morisuke tells him.

Daichi’s sigh of relief is both painful and embarrassing. “Jackass,” he hoarsely mutters, and Morisuke nods many times in agreement. “Kou?”

He’s surprised Koutarou isn’t here with him. Daichi glances around again, to be certain, but he’s in a small room with a smaller window, surrounded by all manner of clean tools and suspicious mixtures. This is absolutely Morisuke’s private room.

But Koutarou appears at his weak summons. Morisuke jumps with a curse. Koutarou kneels beside Daichi’s bed, despite the fact that Daichi can comfortably sit, and he buries his face into the crisp sheets before Daichi can gauge what he’s feeling. Koutarou, with full hands, clutches Daichi’s in both of his.

“Tell him what you’ve done,” Morisuke says like he’s scolding a child.

Daichi wonders when he’s gotten so brave around witches.

 _Please, for the love of all that is precious in the world, do not let the next words out of his mouth be that he’s killed anyone_ , Daichi pleads, closing his eyes for a moment to steel himself.

“I lost him,” Koutarou mumbles against Daichi’s hands. His breath is warm against his skin, and Daichi thinks over-damp. But he doesn’t hear tears in his voice.

“That is not what I meant,” sighs Morisuke, “now cut with the theatrics and release my patient. Healing comes before any rank, you know this.”

Koutarou releases Daichi, and sits back on his haunches. His eyes are dry, but full of regret, and something else simmers in the bright gold of his irises. Daichi regards him, feeling strangely calm about the utter hell this is turning out to be.

“I lost him,” Koutarou repeats as if giving a report. Daichi supposes it’s not untrue. “After I pulled General Sugawara from you, I-I lost him, Daichi. I don’t know where he is, not here, but I know he’s not hiding behind either of the other witches.”

It takes Daichi a long moment to realize that Koutarou believes Koushi poisoned him. He’s apologizing for losing the culprit.

He shakes his head, but it makes him dizzy. He takes a breath and waits it out. “No,” Daichi croaks. “Not Koushi.”

“He asked for a private dinner with you, and then—!”

“He gave us directions on what to give you,” Morisuke mutters, but it’s loud enough.

Daichi remembers the quick actions that likely saved his life.

He also remembers that Koushi had been eating all of the same food, even from the same fork, as he had been.

 

—

 

It takes another day for Daichi to be able to stand reasonably under his own power. This means there is immediate work to be done.

He sends for one of the Generals—he does not care which, but knows better than to send for Koushi first—but the situation worsens when it is Lord-General Oikawa herself who answers his summons.

“Your Highness,” she says, shortly, and inclines her head in greeting. “I understand you’ve taken ill as our guest. I deeply apologize.”

Taken ill.

They are going to pretend this was an _accident_?

“I was poisoned, and if you did not know this, Lord-General, then I fear for the state of communications in Vierage,” Daichi grits out. His voice is still hoarse, but at least he can speak with some strength now.

“What a grave accusation to make,” she murmurs, unsurprised. “But if it were true, then of course you must allow us to ascertain who had—”

“Amicora will investigate along with Setaria,” he interrupts.

She still does not bat an eye. She does not even appear angry. But then, slowly, her gaze dips down to the metal wrapped around Daichi’s wrists. He has not taken them off, even at Koutarou’s offer. “We will discover the truth of this crude, nefarious plot, rest assured. I will not press you into any state business until you’ve recovered fully. Please make full use of our hospitality as you recuperate, Your Highness.”

The talk does not go as planned, but it serves the purpose of letting Setaria know he’s neither dead nor bedridden. Daichi hardly has the staff to spare to help with any investigations, however; he does order one knight to take whoever else he will need, but it’s a show at best. Suguru would be the man for the job. Suguru is not allowed to leave Daichi’s side, after his altercation with General Tanaka.

“Presuming they aren’t hiding General Sugawara themselves to prevent Koutarou from killing him,” Suguru remarks, casually, “we have to be the first to find him and speak with him. Rationally. Not like certain feral beasts.”

Koutarou growls at him, proving his point, but also successfully forcing him to shuffle away from him, suddenly paler.

“It wasn’t Koushi,” Daichi says. “He cares for me, and he had been honestly shocked at it. He helped save my life and stands to gain nothing by killing me. I believe he even needs the power we offer him—neither the Lord-General nor her daughter seem to like him right now.”

“If he’s using you as a political shield, then perhaps he’s being framed for that reason,” Suguru suggests.

“He’s not being framed. The Lord-General would have said that outright if it were the case, but instead she tried to blame it on a sudden illness.”

Suguru lets out a bark of a laugh. “Did she _really_ have that much gall?”

“We need to find General Sugawara, then. It seems like he knows the most out of anyone,” Koutarou says, gruffly, with arms folded tight across his broad chest. “But if he’s _really_ innocent, he’d wanna prove it! And as far as I know, he hasn’t tried to contact anyone.”

“He likely believes Daichi would believe him. But he hasn’t tried to leave any communication with anyone of our envoy,” Suguru says. “Probably doesn’t trust us, with the show _you_ put on.”

Koutarou huffs.

“So how would he contact Daichi without letting anyone else know? He doesn’t know the layout of the building, much less the city, and he can only move so much without alerting anyone.”

It comes to Daichi in a flash. “Has anyone checked under my pillow?”

 

—

 

The note is a torn piece of paper, sloppily folded and unaddressed. Suguru looks utterly disgusted by its mere presence. “ _Daichi - you must believe I would never do this to you, and believe that I care deeply for you. Please do not do anything rash. I will take care of this for you._ ” Suguru tosses it in Daichi’s direction, and Koutarou catches it for him.

Daichi reads it over, but that’s really all it says. The handwriting is now familiar to him, at least, so he knows that this is Koushi’s. “This is not as helpful as I’d hoped,” he mutters; he had hoped for some clandestine meeting place outlined within.

“He says he’ll take care of it. What does that mean for us?” Koutarou asks.

“What does any of this mean for us?” scoffs Suguru.

“Don’t be so defeatist!”

“I like to win. I do not believe in fighting losing battles,” he replies. “If the Generals are going to sort this out amongst themselves, our only course of action may be to step back and let it happen. We don’t know enough of what this entails. We can only focus on Daichi’s health and safety for the time being.”

 

—

 

It may be foolish, but despite the ever-present fatigue of a recovering body, Daichi cannot sleep. And a midnight walk sounds both nostalgic and silly.

Yet here he is, wandering the halls, without a candle and only armed with a short knife on a belt. He isn’t in his sleep clothes, but he is barefoot, and only wears a thin, loose shirt along with his uniform pants. He feels an awful lot like he’s channeling Koushi, but it soothes his troubled mind, and he still hopes for luck.

He catches sight of a patrolling guard around one corner, and swiftly ducks down another corridor. He may not know patrol routes, but with how dark the nights are here, it’s easy to spot any hint of candlelight at a distance. He doubts any guard would willingly scold the Crown Prince of a visiting country, but he knows it would be suspicious for him to be out of bed, and more tension is the last thing anyone needs.

Daichi circles, aimless, listening hard for any sounds. The building is silent. He sees guards every so often, adjusting course as necessary, but the situation changes when Daichi thinks he begins to recognize the guard.

It is the same guard, over and over. It doesn’t make sense, with how Daichi is traveling away from him constantly. It’s always at a distance, so he cannot make out any features, but it is certainly a man and he’s certainly in the dark colors of Setaria.

 _He’s herding me_ , Daichi thinks, concerned, but he doesn’t know to what end. He doesn’t believe he’s headed back in the direction of their wing.

Just as he begins to wonder how the man could possibly remain ahead of Daichi, he realizes two things.

One: Daichi has no idea where he is now.

Two: The only possible way to stay ahead of him is with magic, and he does not know what either of the Setarian witches look like.

A summons for Koutarou is on the tip of his tongue when he hears voices.

Muted by walls and doors, it is easy to pinpoint the direction the sounds come from, with silence everywhere else. Far more concerned about the possibility of a foreign witch tracking him, Daichi doesn’t care at first for what manner of secrecy this could be—until he recognizes Koushi’s voice.

He creeps closer.

Light comes from a crack in a door, as do the sharp sounds of two people arguing with no small amount of passion. “…but _who_? I need to know who it was!” Koushi says with the frustrated anger of someone struggling to keep quiet.

“What does it matter?” comes the second voice. More composed, deep, and unknown to Daichi.

“You _know_ why, Keiji. Now tell me who before I have to kill you for this.” A pause, and then, quieter, “…I really don’t wish to have to kill you for this.”

“But you will.” It is not a question. The voice seems very resigned. “The power play against you and that Prince was not my idea.”

“I know,” Koushi softly replies. He says something else, but Daichi cannot make it out. He leans closer to the cracked door.

He accidentally nudges it, making it creak, the tiniest amount.

Daichi scrambles backward, too late, and the door is thrown open. He does not immediately recognize the man before him, only a flash of dark hair and the glint of a sharp knife aiming for his throat. Daichi hits the carpet behind him, throwing up a leg to catch his attacker in the stomach, but he easily sidesteps and brings the blade down toward Daichi’s vulnerable belly.

“ _Stop_!” Koushi cries at the same time Daichi shouts, “ _Kou_!”

Koutarou appears and knocks the blade away with a quick, sharp blow to the man’s extended arm.

The man, completely unfazed, grabs Koutarou’s arm and wrenches it behind his back. Koutarou seems more surprised than anything else, but it gives their attacker a long enough moment to kick his knees out from behind him. Koutarou falls to the floor, held up by the arm pinned behind his back and a fist in his hair.

He _still_ appears more surprised than anything else.

Koushi swears softly, from inside the doorway. “Daichi, are you alright?”

Daichi is, shockingly, still alive. He isn’t certain if this counts as another assassination attempt or not. “What’s going on? Who is this man? Koutarou, get _up_.”

“This man is the one who poisoned you,” Koushi tells him.

Daichi does not have to worry about ordering Koutarou to move a second time.

In the space of a breath, he has the man pinned to the wall with a forearm against his throat. The man’s boots dangle several inches over the carpet. Fear sparks in his eyes at the furious witch in his face.

“Don’t kill him,” Koushi says, quiet and sad. “Please.”

“Koutarou, don’t kill him,” Daichi says, though he isn’t sure why. He stares expectantly at Koushi for one _hell_ of a good explanation.

“This man is an assassin hired to kill you.”

“So _why_ don’t I splatter his head on the ceiling?” Koutarou growls. The man wheezes weakly in his grasp, eyes fluttering and hands scrabbling uselessly at Koutarou’s arm.

“Because I don’t know yet who sent him. Removing the tool doesn’t remove the intent to kill. Whoever did it could do it again, and I might not be around to save you this time,” Koushi says, to Koutarou’s clear annoyance. “Your attack dog is useful, very. Talented and strong. I’m not arguing that. But he doesn’t know much about poisons, or how to extract information from assassins, does he?”

“Because I get results,” Koutarou snarls. He releases the man, dropping him to the ground, and the man sucks in a breath. With a gesture, the man is airborne, and Koutarou extends a hand down to help Daichi up. “Get inside before someone finds us. It reeks out here.”

“Of other witches?” Daichi murmurs, so Koushi cannot hear, and Koutarou’s gleaming eyes find him. Answer enough. _Someone wanted me to find them_ , he thinks, and he isn’t certain if that’s good or bad. He does know that there are far more politics and secrets involved than he is comfortable with.

Koutarou drops the man to the ground. “Get talking,” he orders, and Daichi doesn’t know if he’s speaking to Koushi or the assassin.

The man keeps his head bowed, avoiding eye contact. His hair, curly and dark, is not enough to completely shield his face, but it’s enough to allow him to plausibly ignore the irate witch in his peripherals.

It is Koushi who speaks, however. “I cannot protect you if you don’t give up who hired you.”

“Why would you want to _protect him_?!” Koutarou shouts. The candles on the table flare with his fury. “He tried to kill Daichi! _Twice_!”

“Because he’s my friend,” Koushi replies with a glare.

 

—

 

“There had better be a damn good reason for waking me at this hour, my lord,” Suguru hisses, venomous, eyes narrowed to sleepy slits.

Daichi steps aside to show him Koushi and the assassin.

Suguru sighs at being bested, and allows them into his chambers. Koutarou hauls their captive in, and makes no secret of his feelings toward Koushi, either. But Daichi seats them far apart; he and Koushi share the bed, though at a polite distance. Suguru rummages around in the chest of his belongings, until he comes out with the lacquered box containing the set of magicked cuffs they had brought with them.

“ _That’s_ why you brought us here? That’s not going to work,” Koushi says, frowning deeply. The assassin huffs a tired, mean little laugh, as if in agreement.

“And how do you know? I’m very good with words,” Suguru replies.

Koushi rolls his eyes. He reaches for Daichi, and for a moment, Daichi doesn’t know what to expect from him.

Koushi slides the knife out of the belt on Daichi’s hip, drops down to the floor beside the assassin, and buries the blade in his thigh.

To his credit, the man barely lets out a noise, though his jaw is gritted and his hands are clenched behind him so tightly his knuckles are stark white.

“Well, that’s one way to do it, I suppose. Though I’m still not hearing any talking,” Suguru says.

“You were contracted to kill the Crown Prince of Amicora on a visit to finalize a peace treaty. Who sent you?” Koushi demands, and twists the blade, just a little. “I will not ask nicely anymore, Keiji. You do not want me to be cruel.”

“You don’t outrank my contractor,” the man named Keiji says. His voice is still quite composed considering there’s a knife in his leg.

“I _know_ it’s one of the other Generals,” Koushi growls. Daichi and Suguru exchange a glance over Koushi’s head. “Give me a name. This is already getting out of hand, and neither of us can afford further mistakes.”

“Excuse me, I must have missed the charming story of how you two met,” Suguru politely interrupts.

Koushi glares at him over his shoulder. “I would have thought you would be more interested in who is trying to assassinate Daichi.”

“Oh, I’m _very_ interested in that, but considering he’s safe in my quarters with a witch guarding him, for the time being, my priority is why the Setarian General he’s betrothed to knows assassins by their given name.”

Koushi sighs, then pulls out the knife with a soft _snick_. Keiji hisses out a breath. “You don’t get to where I am without knowing a few assassins,” he quietly replies and wipes the blood off on his pant leg. He holds it back out to Daichi, by the blade, so Daichi can take the hilt. “If we could have some privacy for a moment…”

“Absolutely not.”

Koushi sighs, again. He seems very tired all of a sudden. “…You heard him, Keiji. Tell me who it was, before a witch throws you off the roof.”

“In pieces,” Koutarou offers.

“I can pay you off, if that’s what this is about. You knew I was going to—” Koushi cuts himself off with a shake of his head. He rubs at his eye, inadvertently smearing blood over his cheek. “Don’t make me do this, please. This is difficult enough as it is.”

“Either way I’m dying,” Keiji flatly replies.

“So die as my friend.”

Keiji raises his head, first to regard Koushi, then inclining his head toward Daichi. Daichi feels as if he’s being measured. Bound and bleeding on the floor, the man has a quiet sort of fierceness that reminds him uncannily of the Lord-General, to a lesser extent.

Daichi _sincerely_ hopes it had not been her to hire him.

“…General Naoi,” Keiji says.

Koushi smiles, still weary and sad, but at least it’s a smile.

“Now that that’s settled,” Suguru says and nods at Koutarou. Koutarou drags Keiji up by an arm, but Koushi steps forward.

Before he can speak, and before Daichi can intervene—on whose behalf, he has not had the luxury to decide—Keiji pulls out the twin of the blade he’d had earlier from inside his sleeve. He twists in Koutarou’s grip, just enough to allow him to shove the knife through Koutarou’s neck.

Koutarou drops him with a wet gurgle and a glare that could kill in its own right. Koushi is already moving toward Keiji, as if stopping him had been his intent all along.

Suguru drags Daichi back, away from the blood and danger.

Koushi reaches Keiji first, just before he gets to the door. Koutarou is on them both, just a heartbeat later, pouring scarlet over them. When he grins, it’s equally red, and twice as sharp as the knife Keiji had lost.

“Stop it, don’t hurt him!” Daichi calls and Koutarou freezes.

“Please tell me you only mean the betrothed him, and not the assassin him,” Suguru says.

Daichi doesn’t answer, at first—not because he’s unsure who he meant, but because he does not know how to articulate himself. This assassin is the first person who Koushi had ever admitted had been from some sort of nebulous past. He’s separate from the Generals. He has information they could not get elsewhere, and it could be information he fears Koushi wishes to bury.

“Right,” Suguru sighs, clapping a hand on Daichi’s shoulder, like he has read his thoughts. “I suppose this interrogation isn’t over yet. I hope you’ve the stomach for what’s yet to come on this trip, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: It's almost like old times, having Koushi confined to Daichi's quarters again. Although Daichi makes even less headway against him now.


	21. blood (of the covenant) is thicker than water (of the womb)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “An assassin is a tool for others to use. I’ve betrayed the man who held my contract last, and he is dead now. Why don’t you assume that Koushi is now my master? I’m a very valuable asset to protect,” Keiji replies. He does not sound as if he believes his own words. He sounds very, very resigned.

Tea with Lord-General Oikawa is just as much a teeth-grinding affair as it had been in Amicora.

Northern tea, at least, is palatable. It wards off the autumn chill that surrounds them in the courtyard like a damp blanket. Neither have any attending guards, though Daichi is certain eyes are on them all the same. Despite it being a handful of months since they’d last spent time together, the Lord-General appears years older, the lines in her face deeper and the bags beneath her eyes even more shadowed. Daichi takes vindictive pleasure in her haggard appearance.

“Since it is little use to hide anything from our future allies, and since I never believe in mincing words, I would like to be the one to inform you that Lieutenant General Naoi was found dead this morning,” the Lord-General tells him like she is remarking upon the weather.

Daichi swallows, teacup to his lips, breath caught in his throat. “I… see.”

“I will not do you the disservice of inquiring about it,” she dryly continues, and sips at her own drink.

“Thank you,” Daichi says. He has no idea what she wants him to say, so he will say as little as possible. He also does not know what the cuffs will catch. He’d _suspected_ , but…

A dead General is a lot to consider over morning tea.

“Since you have recovered, and since this has been such a terrible accident, I would ask that we don’t worry any others about this.”

Daichi stares at her, unsure if she is saying what he _thinks_ she may be saying.

“I wouldn’t want to concern your father, when he already has such heavy thoughts on his mind, with unnecessary news from our shared peace summit,” the Lord-General says.

Daichi can hardly believe it. He knows neither Koutarou nor Suguru had contacted the King until Daichi awoke, at which point he told them to delay any news until they had more information. But if his father didn’t know… He did not strictly _need_ to know. It had been taken of internally; the Lord-General is allowing her General’s death as retribution, and she wants nothing more to come of it.

She is asking Daichi if this is alright.

Daichi is successfully getting away with the murder of one of the Generals of Setaria without a spot of blood on his hands.

The Lord-General either is wholly devoted to this peace between their nations (no matter the blood reparations that would not allow her to live to see it), or General Naoi had been a political rival of some sort. Daichi does not wish to be drawn further into Setaria’s political quagmire.

But this works in his favor too: if his father, who is looking for an excuse to rail against the Lord-General, found out about an assassination attempt on his son, the treaty would be off the table. Permanently. Daichi cannot allow that.

“Yes, we wouldn’t want to concern my father,” Daichi agrees.

The Lord-General smiles behind her teacup. The sight is twice as chilling as the day.

 

—

 

“The assassination attempt is not to reach the ears of my father or any loyal to him over me,” Daichi announces. He eyes Suguru in particular. Suguru feigns ignorance of the weight of Daichi’s stare, and turns another page in his book. Daichi thinks it may be a history book now. “We will not send word of the death of General Naoi, either, until Setaria announces it to their public. We will follow whatever lead they set.”

“So what, this is their apology for almost _killing_ you?” Morisuke demands with arms crossed.

“Now we just have to take care of the assassin,” Koutarou says darkly.

“Setaria doesn’t know we have him?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Daichi says, but ends up on his hands and knees on the carpet, shoulders aching. He glowers at the cuffs on him, and wracks his brain for what the lie could have been. “There… had been someone. Someone who led me to them that night. They could suspect.”

The magic relents, and Daichi sits back, rolling his shoulders.

“You never mentioned anyone else,” Morisuke says. He doesn’t sound accusatory, but it still hangs in the air between them. He does not offer to ease the ache in Daichi’s shoulders.

“With everything else, I had not thought it would be that important. It… could have been one of the witches,” Daichi admits. “I don’t know who else would know this much, or know to push me in their direction.” _But why would one of the Setarian witches out their own?_ They had certainly done General Naoi no favors. Koushi is still locked in Daichi’s chambers, too.

It sounds nostalgic, almost.

“With everything else going on, we haven’t had the chance for proper introductions with the rest of the returned Generals, nor their witches,” Morisuke says, hesitantly, and slowly unfolds his arms. “That may have to be the next step, as much as I dislike it. We need to know who the other players in this mad chess game are.”

Daichi wishes he could write to Asahi or Tetsurou. He does not trust the letter not to get intercepted, whether on this side of the border or theirs. He does not know what sort of aid they could offer. Likelier would be that they get into trouble for having information they shouldn’t—Daichi won’t risk them.

Daichi leaves them, even with Koutarou’s continued foul mood and bandaged neck, to retire to his room.

Koushi is propped up in the bed, book in his lap, hair pushed back from his face with a set of onyx pins. When Daichi enters, he looks up, and breaks into a smile.

“You’re far happier about being isolated this time than last,” Daichi can’t help but say, somewhat hopefully. He knows this is unfair to him.

But Koushi is—appears to be—understanding. “I know what sort of position this must put you in.”

“General Naoi is dead. The Lord-General told me this morning.”

“Is that so,” Koushi says, utterly unsurprised, and places his mark in the book before shutting it.

“Was it on your orders?” Daichi asks quietly. He has no illusions about the security of his room; Koushi had gotten out of worse, and this is his own territory. This is all for show, built on trust, whatever they have between them.

“What else are assassins good for?” Koushi murmurs, eyes askance.

“Koushi, this assassin of yours…”

Koushi slips out of bed and reaches for Daichi’s hands. He takes them, gently, and brushes his thumbs across his knuckles. Daichi looks down at him, aware of what little height difference they have, and as much as he wishes to enjoy this proximity, he knows what Koushi will say next.

“What do I have to do,” Koushi says with his voice purposefully pitched to be something seductive and smokey and not at all natural, “for you to allow him to live? I’ve a plan for how to do it, you know. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger, and you would be at no risk.”

“Why are you so attached to him?”

“I told you. He is my friend.”

Daichi notes the present tense.

Koushi steps closer, until they’re nearly flush, nearly nose-to-nose. He flutters long, pale lashes and again uses that voice that is not his. Daichi cannot deny it’s attractive, but he has little use for the airs of a whore right now. “Daichi, _please_. I would do an awful lot for you if you would permit him to live,” he purrs, and leans up onto his toes so his breath ghosts against Daichi’s lips.

“Stop this,” Daichi says, and Koushi drops the act immediately, though his expression dips into the same kind of surly rebellion Daichi had become accustomed to during Koushi’s last confinement. “This isn’t you.”

“I wish you knew enough about me for the lie to catch,” Koushi says with dry amusement.

“Then tell me how you’ve come to hold an assassin so dearly that you would insult both of us like this.”

Koushi’s expression shutters further. “I’ve precious few friends, Daichi. I would like to keep them, no matter what it could cost—”

“He’s a killer! A paid killer who would have killed me for money, gladly, and throw _both_ our countries back into war!” Daichi cannot help his raised voice. “What sort of cost is _that_?!”

Koushi pulls away from him, blinking rapidly, and his eyes look suspiciously shiny. Daichi reaches for his hands again. Koushi steps back.

“You don’t understand,” Koushi whispers thickly. He rubs at his eyes, though he does not shed any tears. “We’re all killers in this war, what does that matter? He’s… I’ve known him for years, before I joined the military. He is the closest thing I have to family anymore.”

“Your family tried to kill me,” Daichi reiterates, though he can feel his willpower eroding. Not by Koushi’s emotional display, but rather by the unexpected value in family. Daichi truly understands the fight to keep family alive.

Even if Koushi could be wildly lying to him right now.

Daichi’s wrists feel heavy.

This is how Koushi felt, isolated and suspicious in Amicora. Except he had a mission to appeal to Daichi; Daichi’s only duty is to appeal to the Council of Generals enough to get his treaty finalized. He’s already given into the marriage, but he still hopes for some breakthrough for the reparations. He does not think alienating what he has just resigned himself to is a good step of progress.

But he doesn’t understand how Koushi cannot see this as what it is: someone tried to kill Daichi, and Koushi is defending that person.

It is a rude awakening indeed as to precisely how much Daichi means to the man before him.

 

—

 

Daichi attends the funeral of the man who had tried to kill him.

The man who _actually_ tried to kill him is still alive.

It is completely within Daichi’s power (and right) to kill Keiji, but something stalls him, each time he thinks of it. Or, perhaps not something, but _someone_.

He writes a set of letters, all largely containing the same information: news of General Naoi’s death, plus a general update. When Daichi writes of his own health, he almost hits his head on the desk when he lies. Most of the letters are full of fluff and nonsense. One goes to his father, one to Asahi and Tetsurou (and Kenma), and a third to Professor Nekomata. He thought of writing one to General Ukai as well, but that may be pushing the issue further than he wishes in this fragile time.

Koushi hardly speaks to him the entire day. He had not asked to attend the funeral, and strangely enough, none of the other Generals had inquired after him. It’s surely obvious where he is, and Daichi has no right to keep him. Yet, they allow this.

It’s either a continued apology, or Koushi is not popular within the Council.

Seven of the Generals are now present in Vierage. With one gone, this only leaves two still in the field, for which the Lord-General blandly apologizes. She sets up a private dinner with her daughter as apology. It is tense and unpleasant.

Daichi wonders why Tooru is avoiding him—or if he’d been barred from speaking directly to Daichi, potentially due to the request he’d sent by letter.

He plans to inquire about it later. Everything can happen later. First, Daichi must determine what to do with their assassin. He doubts that they’ve kept his presence in their wing a total secret, but Koushi insists, and Daichi will at least trust him that much.

When he visits Keiji, he’s sitting on the floor, in the corner of the room, with a book spread on his lap and only a single candle for light. He does not raise his head when Daichi enters.

“Where is your guard?” Keiji asks.

“Outside.”

“That’s not very smart, Your Highness.” He turns a page in his book, and moves his hand across it with short gestures. “It’s also not very smart to interrogate me yourself. You do not know what to ask for, nor do you have the stomach for what you’d need to do to get anything worthwhile out of me.”

“What is your exact relationship with General Sugawara?” Daichi asks.

Keiji sighs, nearly mutely, and stills his movements. “What did he tell you?”

“I am asking _you_.”

“An assassin is a tool for others to use. I’ve betrayed the man who held my contract last, and he is dead now. Why don’t you assume that Koushi is now my master? I’m a very valuable asset to protect,” Keiji replies. He does not sound as if he believes his own words.

He sounds very, very resigned.

“How do you know each other? What is the nature of your relationship now?”

Keiji draws a long line across his page—and Daichi realizes that is exactly it: he is _drawing_. He has pulled some old piece of charcoal from the cold fireplace, and he now draws with it.

The letters Koushi had sent over the summer become bitter memories in a flash.

“Are you lovers? Were you?” Daichi asks through clenched teeth.

Keiji sighs. “Jealousy is unbecoming for men of high class. If you won’t bloody your hands, you’re wasting your time. Kill me, or send someone else, I care not.”

He resumes drawing and dismisses Daichi entirely.

 

—

 

“Were you lovers?” Daichi asks Koushi, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

Koushi spares him a cool look.

“I caught him drawing. You said so yourself, Koushi—you’ve precious few friends,” Daichi says. Koushi had spoken so highly of this returned friend of his. Vague details, but ones full of warmth and affection. It tears at him to know that he’d been speaking of a killer. “You _knew_ he was here, and you didn’t warn me? Why else would an assassin be here, when I was set to visit?”

Koushi returns to his book. His knees are halfway drawn up, book resting in his lap, and even with Daichi facing him, it’s easy for him to ignore him now.

“Tell me—Koushi, look me in the eye and tell me it was General Naoi who sent him,” Daichi pleads.

Koushi finally raises his head once more. He looks Daichi head-on, and without wavering or the most remote trace of uncertainty in his voice, he replies, “I did not send an assassin after you, nor did I know you would be his target. He was here because _I_ sent for him. General Naoi is the one who hired him.”

“If he is truly your friend—he should have refused! He should have _told you_!” Daichi paces, until he reaches the farther side of the bed, and he clenches his hands in the sheets. “You ate of the same food I did, yet you did not succumb. You did not even get sick, did you?”

“He knew I would be with you, and yet he still did it.” Koushi sighs. “The poison didn’t affect me. It’s my northern blood. He chose it on purpose to spare me, though I wouldn’t have been surprised if Naoi wouldn’t have been pleased by my death as well. Most on the Council would.”

“Your _friend_ would have killed me. And yet you still plead for his life.”

“It was his _job_ , Daichi.”

“Anyone else would have killed him on sight!”

“Then why don’t you, already, and spare us both this cruel uncertainty?!” Koushi bursts out.

Daichi blinks at him, taken aback; so rarely does Koushi raise his voice, much less at him, despite all of the corners he has been pressed into in the past. Koushi’s brows are drawn low and his mouth is twisted into something ugly and self-hating. It’s clear he already regrets his words.

Yet he speaks again, before Daichi can gather himself. “I’ve been trying to buy his contract, ever since I was promoted to General. Generals are—they’re akin to royalty, in Setaria, and I thought I could have enough power to… But I _can’t_. I’ve tried. I’ve tried again, and again. I wouldn’t have enough sway until I became royalty myself. I was going to use my new rank, and the fact that you are independent of this cursed country, to finally…”

Koushi trails off with a harsh breath. He presses his palms into his eyes, shoulders so tense they’re shaking.

Daichi wishes to reach for him. “I see,” Daichi says.

Koushi’s frame continues to tremble. “Do what you must, Your Highness, but know that I can either be an ally or another obstacle for you. I care for you immensely, but some things are worth more than affection.”

Daichi hesitantly sits on the bed, but Koushi does not turn to him. He does, at least, go when Daichi pulls him to him. He does not search out his hidden face, but allows Koushi to rest against his chest, shaking with the force of his emotions.

“Were you lovers?” Daichi asks again.

“ _Yes_ , are you happy now?” Koushi hisses at him, and slaps weakly against his shoulder.

“No, because I now have to talk a witch and a man with questionable loyalty into letting this assassin live,” Daichi admits.

Koushi pulls away, just enough to look up at him, searching for the sincerity in his face. Daichi cannot help but smile and hold up his arm. The magicked cuff is exposed by his loose sleeve.

Koushi finally smiles at him again. It’s small, and unsure, but it is just as honest as anything Daichi can say.

“We were lovers by necessity, not emotion,” Koushi frankly tells him, making Daichi’s brows rise, “since we worked in the brothel together and we were both very handsome men.”

“He doesn’t seem particularly handsome,” Daichi says, and while his wrists twinge, his opinion holds out.

“Give him a bath, look him in the face, and then try to lie to me again.”

Koushi again lays against him, this time willingly winding an arm around Daichi’s waist, and uses his shoulder as a pillow. Daichi hadn’t expected this, and in fact his positioning is fairly uncomfortable for any amount of cuddling or weight pushed onto him. But Koushi hums and drags him down anyway.

 

—

 

“My lord, a word in private?” Suguru says with a beckoning crook of his finger. Daichi, first suspicious and second worried, leaves Koutarou with a look to watch over Koushi. Not that they particularly get along, but at least there’s no more animosity between they themselves. Only where Keiji is concerned.

Daichi follows Suguru, not to his chambers, but to a small library housed in their borrowed wing. He shoos out the guard, then shuts and locks the door behind her.

Both Daichi’s suspicions and worries grow.

“I am not one to blather about the secrets of magic I, frankly, know nothing about,” Suguru begins with a nervous little titter.

Daichi knows for a fact that Suguru knows quite a bit about magic, despite being nonmagical himself. He waits, expectantly, for him to continue, since he cannot agree, even in jest.

“I know there are magics that prevent people from talking about certain topics or people. It’s strong magic, the magic belonging to witches, but I also know that there are ways to speak with it, even so,” Suguru seriously tells him. “It feels as if you are vomiting knives and your tongue is aflame, but you can speak through all but the gravest of magics, with the proper incentive.”

“Keiji simply _won’t talk_. He already gave up the name of his employer, so if that wasn’t magicked, then I don’t think he’d been important enough to have many other spells cast onto him.” He can’t imagine what Keiji would know that would need so much protecting. Speech magics are powerful, but must be maintained regularly, from what Koutarou has told him in the past.

(They had once attempted to prevent Tetsurou from speaking his thoughts so freely. It had lasted less than a week.)

“I’m not talking about the assassin,” Suguru tells him.

A long moment grows longer between them.

Daichi grasps his meaning, but he refuses to acknowledge what has just been suggested. Yet Suguru has the gall to wait for his response.

“You know what my thoughts would be,” Daichi eventually says, in a tone so calm he surprises even himself. “Why would you bother asking me for permission?”

“I could lie and say because I am loyal to you, my lord,” Suguru says, “but we both know that’s not it. I don’t want to die. And I know if not approached properly, you would most certainly have me killed for attempting something so brash upon your _darling_ General.”

“Don’t speak of him like that.”

“You’re protective, see.” Suguru smiles. It is a vile sight. “Think of the information we could gain! Think of what we could do against the Lord-General and those horrid blood reparations. You could save His Majesty’s life, my lord. No permanent harm will befall your betrothed. It is not that high of a cost to consider.”

“Do not bring this up with me again if you want to keep your tongue in your mouth,” Daichi warns.

“You stole me from your father in order to gain an edge. And yet every suggestion I make—”

“I want to _save lives_. I want peace, and I want no more of these ugly politics. Stooping so low isn’t what you’re here for, Daishou.”

“Yes, it is,” he insists, and Daichi almost raises his voice, but he sees the seriousness in Suguru’s eyes again. “You want me to make the difficult decisions for you. I know what this arrangement is for each of us, Highness. You want _me_ to suggest the terrible things, and you want me to dirty my hands for you. You want a spymaster and you want someone whose violence you can ignore. You don’t have to be present. Koutarou can record all of the information, if you don’t trust me to deliver it.”

The scary thing is that Daichi _would_ trust Suguru to honestly deliver information gained through such means. He even believes Suguru could do it himself, without Koutarou lifting a finger.

But Daichi doesn’t want information like this. “You’re right,” he admits, and Suguru brightens. “But we’re not doing this. I need someone at my side who I can _trust_. Koushi may be a forced ally of ours, but he will still be an ally, and I’m going to win him over, not threaten and torture him.”

“You’re soft,” Suguru says, without any negativity. In fact, he sounds a little proud. “A romantic, my lord.”

“Just the same as you,” Daichi reminds him.

“How quickly do you think these marriage laws will change, upon our return home? There are only so many preparations I can do from abroad.”

“The speed with which I grant your wish will be exactly inverse of how much metaphorical blood you spill, Daishou. Behave, while you’re here. That’s an order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi must maintain pleasantries and good social presence, even if that means odd banquets and odder hunting trips.


	22. all blood flows red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Daichi!” comes a loud, carrying cry.
> 
> There are only three people present who would dare call his name so boldly. One is hanging onto his arm, another is being watched by Morisuke, and the third—Daichi and Koushi turn to find General Oikawa (the youngest) waving and beckoning them over with a bright, horribly forced smile.

“I look forward to my marriage with General Sugawara,” Daichi says with a sunny, rehearsed smile. The day is not particularly warm, but he folds up his sleeves anyway, and even with his arm looped through Koushi’s, the metal of the cuff is visible to all.

The Lord-General stares at them as if Daichi is steadily growing a second head.

“And we both look forward to negotiating the remains of the peace treaty between Setaria and Amicora,” Koushi happily adds, with calculated emphasis on the ‘ _we_ ’.

Koushi will be speaking for Daichi, both to present a unified front, and to avoid any lies spilling from Daichi’s mouth. They must appear to be happily engaged. So far, it appears to be successful, if not a popular choice by any means. Neither wear state uniforms, but instead maintain relaxed dress and make it no secret, now, that Koushi has been staying the nights in Daichi’s chambers.

If everyone is to believe them blinded by affection (or lust) and young fools in love, then they may as well play it up. Suguru’s advice.

The official banquet to greet Daichi is held during the day, which seems strange, but he won’t question when they prefer to eat, out of all of the cultural hiccups he’s encountered thus far. The sunlight is nice, if not strong. The trained songbirds are nice as well, though he doesn’t trust them, after one had nipped his finger and Koutarou had killed it on reflex. (Koushi had helped him hide the charred corpse underneath a table.)

Koutarou is dressed as any member of Daichi’s envoy, and no formal introductions have been made, either of him or of the Setarian witches. Koushi shrugs helplessly when asked, and Daichi recalls Tetsurou’s caginess when Daichi had first pressed about Kenma.

General Washijou approaches them next, takes in their entwined arms, and snorts. Loudly. “A little old to have puppy crushes, aren’t you?”

“ _General_!” Koushi scolds. The next nearest Council member, General Tanaka, apparently heard as well; despite the way she’s trying to restrain a grin, her face is flushed red from mortification, and she bustles toward them like a charging bull.

“We’re all thinking it!” General Washijou replies. “I don’t mean any offense, of course. If I wanted to offend the little pup prince, then I’d just have to point out the fact that he is trying to end a war in which he has no field experience or real knowledge of.” The older man spares Koushi a flat, very unimpressed look. “Just like you, snowman, come to think.”

“ _Tanji_ , you old jackass, stop running your mouth!” General Tanaka roars and hauls him bodily away.

By now, most of the courtyard is staring at them. It’s a private affair, compared to the lavishly huge banquet Amicora had held, but there are still many sets of eyes eagerly absorbing the scandal. Daichi’s smile is rictus and his jaw aches, but somehow, he doesn’t snap at the man. General Tanaka drags him off, and flags down two of her men to fill the void in the conversation.

Daichi finds himself speaking with a Commandant and some unknown rank even lower. He glances sideways at Koushi. They both appear young, perhaps closer to their age. Hell, the shorter man seems _younger_ than Daichi, and not only because of his height.

Koushi, smile still strained, hastens to introduce him. “This is His Highness Crown Prince Daichi.”

“So you’re the one aiming to stop this little war,” the taller and higher ranking one says. Something about his face is vaguely familiar. Daichi hopes he has not met this man before, or is supposed to remember him. “We’re General Tanaka’s younger brothers,” he offers with a grin both friendly and aggressive. “Ryuunosuke,” he adds with a casual thumb pressed to his own sternum, “and Yuu.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” Yuu pipes up. He _definitely_ sounds young. His eyes sparkle as he takes Daichi in.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I haven’t the pleasure of much time spent with your sister, but I look forward to—” a twinge in Daichi’s wrists acts as a warning, and he casts about for some way to prevent lying in front of these men, “—to working with Setaria in order to bring peace to both of our countries.”

Koushi squeezes his arm, as if in congratulations. Ryuunosuke whistles, low and impressed. “You know, Your Highness, there’s a wager going on with a lot of the officers. When you’re going to slip up first. We could split it with you if you were to hit a _little_ snag in front of us or Sae…”

“Oh, stop that,” Koushi scolds, and at least these two snap to attention and take his reprimand with grace. Although, with the grin on Yuu’s face, he may enjoy the attention.

“ _Daichi_!” comes a loud, carrying cry.

There are only three people present who would dare call his name so boldly. One is hanging onto his arm, another is being watched by Morisuke, and the third—Daichi and Koushi turn to find General Oikawa (the youngest) waving and beckoning them over with a bright, horribly forced smile.

Ryuunosuke and Yuu both whistle as if this is some vulgar come-on.

Koushi gives them both a venomous look, and Daichi becomes very sure of the fact that Yuu must be masochistic. “May as well get this over with,” Koushi whispers to Daichi.

They make their way toward him, despite the glare of the Lord-General on all three of them, and Daichi nods in greeting. Tooru is flanked by his two magical guards, both of them with food in their mouth, despite the way they stand at attention for Daichi’s presence. “Your Highness, it’s such a pleasure to finally see you again! I apologize for how busy I must have seemed, to have ignored you for so long. Some things have strangely demanded my attention very, very urgently.”

The Lord-General’s glower is a weight on the back of Daichi’s neck.

He has no idea what game Tooru is playing at, but he does not wish to be caught in the crossfire. “A pleasure to see you again as well,” he replies, and thankfully the magic doesn’t catch him. Tooru hadn’t been all that terrible, after all; at least he is a friendlier face than the rest of his family. “But General, sidestepping pleasantries, about your last letter…”

Koushi gives Tooru a confused, suspicious look.

And so Daichi becomes uncomfortably aware that perhaps no one knows the reasons behind Koutarou’s presence in his entourage. For all they knew, it could have been an act of war.

Daichi, still smiling, knows he’s two seconds from glaring at Tooru just as darkly as his mother. “Please, elaborate, General,” he grits out.

“It’s nothing sinister,” the taller of his guards says. Daichi has forgotten both of their names. “He’s just very attached, is all.”

“Speaking of attachments,” says the other, eyes on Koushi, “guess who is getting reassigned to you again, Suga.”

Koushi groans. “Tooru, enough games. You can’t have one of your guard dogs watch over me in our own country.”

“He called you a dog,” the light-haired one says to the other. “It had been Mattsun’s turn, Suga. You’ve hurt his feelings.”

Completely blank-faced, the man pretends to wipe away a tear.

Daichi decides he definitely had _not_ missed any of them and it is _not_ a pleasure to see any of them again. Tooru loops his arm through Daichi’s free one, and unsubtly tugs him from Koushi. “Join me in a brief walk? I find the air of the party stifling. Lieutenants Hanamaki and Matsukawa can keep General Sugawara entertained.”

Koushi glares daggers at him, but Tooru succeeds in prying Daichi away. Tooru waves off curious looks before pulling Daichi through the archway connecting the courtyard to a passageway outside proper. It is even chillier without the building blocking the wind or the mass of bodies, and Daichi pulls his arm from Tooru’s in order to wrap his arms around himself.

“I’d offer you my coat, but I wouldn’t want to impose on anyone’s newly claimed territory,” Tooru drawls.

“Make this quick, Oikawa,” Daichi warns, “I’ve little patience for political games as of late.”

“Yes, I heard about your mysterious and tragic illness. I take it you’re back to your prior health?”

Daichi stares him down, until he speaks again.

“I’m not certain how my mother shared the information, but the Generals _should_ have been briefed on the presence of your Court Witch. We have been trying to maintain some level of decorum, and so you likely will not interact directly with either of the Setarian witches very often, but neither are they barred from your presence.”

“But _why_?” Daichi must ask.

“Security, if you must know,” Tooru frankly admits, with a little shrug, as if this is no bother to him.

Yes, Daichi believes he must know.

“As I’m sure you’ve dealt with private stressors yourself, so have we. As much as my mother dislikes it, I’ve ensured some amount of stability and safety during this. We wouldn’t want any more accidents, would we? Who knows what kind of suspicious person could be in the city.”

Daichi narrows his eyes, but nods slowly. Another piece of information to file away.

 

—

 

“A hunt?” Daichi and Koushi ask at the same time, one in dismay and the other, overjoyed.

“You _have_ been hunting, right?” Mei asks, both brows raised and mouth downturned.

Daichi nods, perhaps too many times. “Foxes and boar are the favorite sport in my country,” he explains, eagerly. They likely know this, just as Daichi knows that Setaria prefers hunting birds. “Do you make it a competition here?” he asks, as tactfully as he can manage.

Tooru rocks up onto his toes, but Mei drags him back down before he can open his mouth. “Yes,” she calmly replies. “It could be, Your Highness, if you’d prefer.”

A competition between the royalty of Amicora and the Generals of Setaria. Not Daichi’s brightest moment, but despite everything, he’s still a young man, and young men tend toward competitive spirits. He can still see the fire in Tooru’s eyes, and despite Koushi’s strange apprehension, Daichi looks forward to his presence, as well.

“That’s a _warhorse_ , not a field hunter!” the elder of the knights exclaims. This is the one who Daichi has learned has seven years of experience, has the rank of Marshal not Knight, is blessedly neutral on the subject of the King versus the Prince, and has a younger sister he cares for. Daichi still cannot remember the man’s name.

But the man has the sheer gall to pull Captain’s reins from Daichi’s hands. Daichi yanks the reins right back.

“He is _my_ horse, and I will use him as I see fit. There is nothing about him that would not be suited for hunting.” Captain certainly has the training and the stamina for it. Daichi has, in fact, used the stallion for fox hunting in the past.

“Don’t risk your favorite mount for the sake of showing off,” the man advises, far too gruffly for Daichi to see the logic of his words.

“It’s _pheasant_ hunting. There’s hardly a risk.”

“I must agree with Prince Daichi,” the other knight pipes up. He is younger, and lesser ranked, but far more lenient towards these affairs. He also seems to enjoy arguing with his superiors, or at least enjoys the position in the entourage that grants him the immunity to do as he likes. He is not known as a voice of reason.

“The risk isn’t from the prey,” the harsh knight says and pulls Captain away for good. “But think of your _company_ , my lord. You’ve already suffered through one attempt on your life. What easier way to kill a noble than to ruin his horse and leave him in the wilds? Hunting accidents are common enough.”

“All the more reason to have a mount I trust,” Daichi insists. “If there is risk to my horse, then there is also risk to me, and that’s still all the same in practice. The hunting party will be small, so I will only require one of you—will you continue to argue, or can I rely on your support?”

The knight bows his head. “As you wish, my lord.”

Daichi makes a stop to the locked room, Suguru at his heel, and yet again finds Keiji seated on the floor in one of the corners.

“He hasn’t moved or spoken much,” Suguru tells him in a low voice. “And he hardly eats. If he’d like to starve himself, we could save him the time and effort of it.”

“We’re not killing him,” Daichi mutters.

Naturally, even with Daichi and other Generals out of the old palace, they will need a guard for the assassin. No one will like what Daichi is going to do as a solution, but hopefully, few even notice. He knows better than to give Suguru any measure of power over Keiji, and Morisuke must accompany Daichi on the hunt. There is only one person who Daichi actually trusts to the point where he would leave Keiji in his hands.

“A moment, please, with Koutarou,” Daichi says as soon as they lock the door behind themselves again. Suguru bows and allows him privacy.

Koutarou cocks his head to the side, lips pursed and entire frame radiating irritability. “I know what you’re gonna ask me,” he says in little more than a growl, “and I don’t like it. I should be with _you_.”

“You can come at just a word,” Daichi replies. “I’m ordering you to stay behind, and prevent both the assassin’s escape, and for any harm to befall him. _Yes_ , that includes _anything_ that Suguru may suggest or coerce you into. Do not listen to him, Kou.”

“I don’t like him,” Koutarou maintains.

“You don’t have to like him.”

“I don’t like General Sugawara, either,” Koutarou mutters. He turns further from Daichi, as far as considered proper for a direct address from the Prince. His sulking is safe, if childish, but a foul mood on a witch is still a foul mood on a witch. “Does he really make you that happy? You could still argue against marryin’ him.”

“I don’t dislike him enough to make that a worthy use of my time,” Daichi replies. He places a hand on Koutarou’s arm, pulling his attention back, and tries to smile for him. Koutarou rewards him with a small smile in return. “One day at a time, Koutarou. We’ll conquer this. But I need your help, and right now, that means keeping that assassin of Koushi’s safe and sound.”

“So long as you remain safe and sound, I’ll do what you like, silly boy,” Koutarou replies with grudging fondness. “But I’m missing an excuse to show off for these northern bastards. You owe me a hunt!”

“Yes, of course,” Daichi replies gratefully.

 

—

 

“I’d rather not,” Koushi maintains.

“Nonsense,” the tall, dark-haired guard with the Mattsun nickname replies, an arm slung firmly around Koushi’s comparatively slighter frame. Daichi, too, can’t compare. He thinks this man may be taller than Tetsurou. “You’re the liaison between your future husband and the rest of the Council. Not to mention I’ve been charged with ensuring your good behavior.”

“I can maintain good behavior in my room,” Koushi replies.

“You haven’t slept in your room since His Highness arrived.”

Daichi wishes it were for as reasons as simple (or fun) as the man implies. “Come on now, Koushi, it will be fun,” Daichi says. Koushi’s hard stance softens, just barely. He ducks away from Tooru’s guard and loops arms with Daichi.

“I don’t think traipsing around outdoors on those big beasts while chasing _other_ beasts for sport is all that entertaining,” Koushi sniffs, as primly as he could, nose in the air for effect.

 _Ah. Horses_ , Daichi remembers. The other Generals must know—how could they not—but it couldn’t be any point of pride for him. “I’m certain they would have very good mounts,” Daichi offers.

Mattsun smirks. Koushi’s eyes narrow.

In a stroke of sudden inspiration, Daichi wraps an arm around Koushi’s waist and pulls him flush against Daichi’s chest. Lowering his voice, intending to sound halfway seductive if only for the sake of their eavesdropper, Daichi suggests, “Ride with me. You know Captain, and you know my skill. We can show the other Generals what the strength of our union can mean.”

What he really means: it will allow Koushi to save face, and give them valuable opportunity to talk without attendants on either side overhearing.

Koushi nods, reluctant, but he puts on a smile for the benefit of Tooru’s guard.

There are many sly remarks made as Daichi helps Koushi up onto his horse, but none are with any ulterior motive; thanks to their saccharine play together at the daytime banquet, laughing together and rarely straying from arm’s length, they have a solid cover as fools in love.

Koushi again sits behind, with padding better prepared for the two of them, though Daichi doesn’t look forward to any rougher riding without a proper saddle. (Even that prompts jeering.) Koushi wraps his arms tight around Daichi’s middle, flush against his back, and buries his face between his shoulder blades.

Both are dressed more warmly for the cool air outside the city, but Daichi is the more bundled between them. Daichi must tuck his scarf into his coat several times in order to prevent it from flapping about directly in Koushi’s face. Koushi forgoes a scarf entirely, and Daichi had to talk him into wearing gloves. He doesn’t understand how the man can be so impervious to the cold.

Along with his (eventual) betrothed, the two young Generals Oikawa, plus Generals Tanaka and Kai are his companions for the day. Daichi does not know why any others declined the invitation, though this is already sizeable even with personnel shared among them; all he knows is that General Washijou had made no secret of his dislike of social gatherings _and_ the visiting Prince.

Daichi is happier without the old man anywhere near him.

Koushi once again tries to break Daichi’s ribs in the course of the ride, and Morisuke rides closer than absolutely necessary, making it no secret what he thinks of their proximity or only mildly unsafe riding practices. Tooru is next closest to them, undoubtedly still angling to have either of his guards attach themselves to Daichi or Koushi, and his sister remains on his other side. Daichi does not know if she is here for her brother or Koushi.

At least Saeko and Nobuyuki seem genuinely interested in the prospect of a hunt.

They leave camp in one group, as Tooru and Koushi take turns outlining the basic lay of the land, and Tooru again offers one of his men as an escort to ensure they don’t get lost. “That’s what I’m here for, Tooru,” Koushi cheerily replies with another squeeze of Daichi’s middle. “Don’t fret! We’ll be fine, and we’ll come back with the winning amount of dead animals for you.”

Tooru scoffs and throws his head, not unlike the horse beneath him. “Just because His Highness has managed to charm most of our retrievers does _not_ give you an edge.” (This is true: it had taken Daichi the space of Koushi fetching an extra blanket for Captain for Daichi to befriend all but one of the hunting dogs. He thinks half the hunting party may believe he has some sort of animal speech magic.)

“What’s game today?” Daichi asks, interrupting in no uncertain terms.

“Pheasant, grouse, any fowl you see.”

“Only birds?”

“If you can scare up a fox or a hare, you’re welcome to it,” Mei says flatly from Tooru’s other side. Daichi had been unaware she’d been listening. “But today isn’t about larger game, Your Highness, if it’s all the same to you. We are still quite close to Vierage, and our citizens need the larger game.”

Daichi cannot argue with a rationale like that. “Very well. By weight or by number?”

“Why are you bothering with the semantics? I’ll win!” Saeko shouts from ahead. She only has her two brothers with her, rather than attendants, but Daichi knows what it’s like to play favorites.

“No cheating, now,” Tooru calls with a wink for Koushi.

Koushi hunches down further in the makeshift saddle and presses his face to Daichi’s back.

The others manage to win back enough dogs to prevent Daichi from hoarding all of them, and the hunt begins. Daichi veers off as early as possible—he and Koushi glare down the guard of Tooru’s who tries to follow them—with half a dozen hounds baying for him. This area is forested, but not thickly, and there has been no frost yet to force any animals into their winter homes. Autumn is crisp in the air and in the brightly colored leaves.

“How good of a shot are you?” Daichi asks over his shoulder as Captain picks his way through the underbrush. The dogs vye for Daichi’s attention; perhaps so many had been something close to a mistake. He has no doubt they’re well-trained, but Setarian systems are unfamiliar to him, and the dogs seem to be in as much competition with each other as he and the Generals.

“With a rifle?” Koushi asks, dubious.

“Please tell me you’re being coy.”

“I’m a horrible shot with a rifle,” he admits. “Decent with a bow or crossbow.”

Daichi isn’t bad with a rifle, and he has decent aim with a bow. But he cannot help but say, “You hate horses and guns. And you’re the General of an army.”

“I’m alright with a pistol, you know,” Koushi mumbles, but does not disagree. Instead, he sighs, and reaches down for the unstrung bow tied to the pack behind them. “I’ll do what I can for you, but this is not any area of strength I possess. I would’ve been more use to you as a distraction for Tooru.”

Despite his desire to take advantage of the privacy, Daichi still wishes to win, so he falls silent and lets the hounds sniff out the way forward. His pride wants to ensure an Amicoran victory, as useless as it would be in the grander scheme.

Daichi does not know how proficient Koushi truly is with a bow, and he doesn’t find out, because whatever talent he may possess is erased by the fact that he is on a horse. He can’t draw and aim with Daichi right in front of him, and Daichi would guess that he’s not used to aiming while moving, either. Daichi sincerely doubts he’s hunted a day in his life.

But Daichi is a fair shot with a rifle. He’s more used to waterfowl than pheasants, but a lot remains the same, aside from the gamey dinner Daichi doesn’t look forward to.

“You aren’t going to kill Keiji, are you,” Koushi asks after the ringing report from a missed shot dies out.

“Unlikely,” Daichi replies, scowling at the escaping grouse. The hounds dutifully circle back, knowing a lost cause when they see them. He likes these dogs. “Which I believe you knew.”

“I’d hoped. I’m unused to hope,” Koushi mumbles.

“He could still trade information for his life.”

“If he doesn’t have magic holding his tongue before, he does now.”

“I thought you said Setaria thinks him dead,” Daichi says sharply. He slings the rifle back across his lap, and Koushi settles in against his back once more. Carrying two men is more taxing on Captain than Daichi would like to admit, and their going is slow, but not unbearably so.

“I could make it seem so. You haven’t let me. Even with Koutarou staying back to watch him—he hasn’t been there constantly. You’ve probably already lost what you wanted.”

Daichi sighs, massaging the furrow in his brow to try to ease the headache that threatens him. “So now I’ve lost my only bartering tool with my men, and the only reason I could keep the man alive is to please you. Perfect.”

It is not perfect.

Daichi swears his shoulder is nearly yanked out of his socket when the lie wrenches his arms downward. He pitches sideways, tries to right himself with a stirrup he doesn’t have, but any chance he had at keeping himself upright is gone when Captain spooks from the sudden, jarring movement.

Daichi hits the ground and immediately rolls to avoid the prancing hooves of a warhorse.

“Koushi! Captain, woah, _stop_!” Daichi can’t sit up, but he catches the sight of Koushi throwing himself flat on the horse’s back, fingers tangling into his mane instead of the reins, which have slid off to the side. “Not perfect, it’d been a lie!” Daichi exclaims and scrambles to his feet.

Captain does not bolt, nor kick, but it takes a significant amount of shushing and cooing before the horse quiets. Even then, he seems particularly annoyed by a man on his back who is not Daichi. Daichi manages to grab hold of the reins, soothing his horse by scratching his ears, just how he likes.

Koushi, predictably, is a stricken, pale-faced, trembling mess on the back of the horse.

“Are you alright?” Daichi tentatively asks. Koushi nods, eyes still wide and locked onto where his fingers are clenched in the black mane. “He’s very well trained—he wouldn’t have thrown you. You’re alright, Koushi.”

“Help me down,” Koushi says in a shaking voice.

“You’re—”

“Help me _down_ ,” he repeats as an order.

Daichi helps him slide down, and Koushi takes several large steps from the horse before releasing a sigh of relief. “We can head back now,” Daichi says. Koushi wraps his arms around himself and refuses to make eye contact. “I’m sorry, I had not been thinking of this magic.”

“You can’t _not_ think while wearing those. You do not have that luxury here, Daichi,” Koushi mutters.

“I’m sorry,” Daichi says again.

Koushi doesn’t reply for a worrying amount of time. Then, with another sigh, he tells him, “I’ll return on my own. You can continue your hunt. It would be a shame to let Tooru win so easily.”

“I can walk you back—”

“ _No_ ,” Koushi says as soon as Daichi and Captain take a step closer. Daichi freezes, and Captain snorts in distaste. “I’m fine, Daichi. There’s no need for you to concern yourself over the odd panics of an enemy General. I will make my way back on my own, and see you for dinner tonight.”

He leaves, picking his way through the underbrush with surprising speed, before Daichi can put together more than another apology.

Daichi kicks at the strange ferns beneath his boot. His wrists still feel heavy. Daichi looks up at his horse, decides he cannot be mad at him, and instead rests his forehead against Captain’s neck. “I know this is a comparatively minor problem to have, but I also know this is going to wear on me. At least you don’t judge me for my soft heart and stubborn incompetence.”

Captain snorts again.

“I know you’ve had a difficult day, carting us both around, but that was just rude. Any one of those Generals would like to turn you into a rug, you know that? Mount you on the wall as the famed, never-used warhorse of Crown Prince Daichi. Who will spoil you rotten when their mercies leave us both dead, hm?”

Two of the dogs trot over at the sound of his voice, expecting either praise or further orders, and Daichi stoops to scratch them, too. Captain nickers in protest. Daichi laughs, small and resigned, and picks up the pheasant one of the dogs retrieved that had fallen off the saddle earlier. There is no way he will win against Tooru; Daichi knows he lacks the means or familiarity to let him win, and his competitive spirit is gone now, replaced by the usual fatigue he feels whenever he realizes how deep into this he is.

Daichi considers heading back, retrieving Koushi on the way and begging his better attentions again, but then he realizes that his guide has just left him in the middle of the forest.

Daichi groans, and he swears Captain laughs at him.

 

—

 

“ _There_ is the wayward Prince! We were almost to send out a search party,” Tooru teases at once. The sun is low against the horizon and Daichi thanks every star in the sky that he made it back before it got any darker.

“It would have only worsened the war if you were to die in such a tragic hunting accident,” Mei reasons, beside her brother. Her eyes drop down to the pathetic string of dead birds tied to Daichi’s makeshift saddle. “Not a very fruitful time, Your Highness?”

“His map walked off after a lover’s spat, don’t be too hard on him,” one of Tooru’s guards says with a leer. “But don’t fret, Your Highness! Tooru and Mei didn’t do any better than you.”

Both Oikawa siblings stiffen, faces snapped into angry, matching pouts. It is the first time Mei has looked anything other than strongly resembling the Lord-General. General Tanaka swaggers over, laughing at them both, apparently in better spirits after a day outside the city.

“It’s not as if either of them won, anyway! Yet again, we _all_ fell prey to Nobuyuki’s innocent charms.”

“ _How_ did you win again?” Tooru demands with a suspicious glare over at General Kai. The man smiles back, wan and polite.

“I don’t cheat,” he replies.

Tooru, Mei, and Saeko _all_ look chagrined.

Daichi arches an eyebrow. “I thought there was to be no cheating,” he says slowly, and the Generals go so far as to turn and busy themselves with their own kills and people. Daichi smiles, just a little, and slides down from Captain. He pats the stallion’s shoulder. “Good work today, Captain. We didn’t succumb to the awful temptation of _cheating_ , either, did we?”

“You only stole half the dogs from the rest of us,” Saeko mutters. Her scowl only slightly relaxes when two of the retrievers bound over to her with much tail wagging and happy slobber. “General Kai is victorious. Again. But a victory for Setaria nonetheless!”

“Yes, yes,” Daichi replies, trying not to let it sting him. It doesn’t matter. What matters is… “Where is Kou—General Sugawara? He left before me.” And from the sound of it, at least Tooru had been aware of this.

Tooru points, smirking, and Daichi leaves his horse with one of the attendants.

He finds Koushi on the far edge of camp, sitting on a stool with his bare feet in a bucket of water. A sheet has been hung up for modesty; he’s stripped down to his smallclothes, and even dripping wet and having been clearly attempting to bathe for some time, Koushi is inappropriately muddy. The water in the bucket is brown, full of sticks and reeds and leaves, and as Daichi ducks around the sheet, he sees another attendant coming over, hauling a fresh bucket.

“I don’t recall this much mud in the route we took,” Daichi casually remarks, and Koushi jumps, splashing a little.

Koushi, rather that being miffed or annoyed or embarrassed, breaks into a radiant smile which stretches his cheeks and crinkles his eyes. “ _There_ you are, Daichi! I was beginning to worry.”

“How did you get to be so filthy?”

“You and I both know I’ve been filthy for some time.”

Daichi tries his hardest not to smile. Koushi continues grinning like he has secured victory long ago. The attendant reaches them, politely averting his eyes, and Daichi helps Koushi rinse off the streaks of mud and grime. “You really should tell me what it is. It’s not as important as other secrets of yours, but it will drive me to madness all the same,” Daichi informs him, and he earns a little chuckle.

“ _Someone_ took all the retrievers with him. How else was I going to retrieve the ducks?”

“You shot ducks?” Daichi asks in surprise.

“I recall that you had a taste for them, so yes, I went and slogged through the lake to retrieve your ducks.”

Daichi’s pleased embarrassment—both that Koushi remembered, and that he went through so much effort, especially considering how they parted—is interrupted by a man bringing another bucket of water over.

He does not set it down, nor even hand it off to Daichi: he pours the entire container over the top of Koushi’s head.

“Sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all, “Tooru’s orders.”

The man is taller than Daichi, and built like an ox, and he must have some rank for him to be so brash with a General. Koushi splutters, undignified, and Daichi glares up at the interloper.

But before he can open his mouth, Koushi tugs on his hand. “Sorry,” he coughs, “I’ll hurry now. Tell Tooru we’ll be along shortly.”

The man hardly bothers glancing in Daichi’s direction. He rubs his nose, covers his mouth as if to prevent himself from saying anything more, and dismisses himself. Daichi glares at his retreating back, but he knows better than to stray from Koushi’s lead.

“Don’t pick a fight with him,” Koushi murmurs, “but come, help me dry off before I catch cold.” He reaches for a fluffy towel folded next to him, and Daichi helps him dry his hair with another. In a particularly tired voice, muffled by the fabric, Koushi adds, “I’m used to Tooru’s antics by now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Despite the presence of a room soaked with blood, negotiations begin in earnest.


	23. in cold blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That went worse than even I was expecting,” Surugu says as soon as they’re out of earshot of the meeting chamber. “Your Highness, if I may be so bold…”
> 
> “Yes?” Daichi wearily asks.
> 
> “Tomorrow, you are fucked.”
> 
> Daichi is inclined to agree.

Daichi has been in the capital for over a week now, and despite all hours he and Koushi spend together, they have not yet been physical. Most nights, Daichi is too exhausted to do more than collapse into bed, and Koutarou’s presence hardly makes things more amorous. With things as rocky as they have been, sex has been the last thing on their mind.

But it is not terrible to share a bed with him.

It is, however, terrible to wake to Koutarou in his face with no General in his bed. “Daichi, wake _up_. This is an emergency!”

Daichi groans, both out of exhaustion and frustration. “What could it be now?”

“The assassin is gone, and Setaria knows. But they believe it was us.”

He sits, rubs at his eyes, and tries to drag his mind from slumber. They need him, now, and all Daichi can wonder is why his bed is empty.

“General Oikawa—the little, loud one—is already here to investigate. He said someone reported a commotion early this morning, but it was none of our envoy,” Koutarou explains as Daichi pulls on pants and a jacket. The morning light filtering through the windows is dim, and the fireplace has gone low and cold at some point in the night.

“The Lord-General informed me it would be permissible if I killed the assassin,” Daichi mutters. “What do they have to gain by framing us for the murder of a would-be murderer?”

Suguru is awake already, naturally, and just as naturally has already engaged two of General Oikawa’s men in a heated discussion. “You _saw_ that room, how could you believe any sane man would cause such a mess?” he demands in little more than a hiss.

Tooru stands in front of the open doorway of the room where they’d held the assassin, flanked by one of his usual guards and the burly man from the hunting trip. Daichi ignores the argument, and strides past them with Koutarou at his heels, but Suguru slides into their party and uses the Prince to bypass the guards who had waylaid him. “What’s going on?” Daichi asks.

“Whoever did it put on a show. General Sugawara is gone again, isn’t he?” Suguru replies quietly, before they come up to Tooru.

Tooru spares Daichi a cool, dismissive look. “It’s early and I’m tired of mincing words. Not that we’re admitting there was an assassin, but if there had been, he would have been held here. And now, he’s gone, and that’s an awful lot of blood. _His_ blood. Where’s the body?”

“How do you know whose blood it is?” Suguru demands.

Tooru gives him an even colder look. He glances back at Koutarou, briefly, but if he recognizes who he must be, he doesn’t let it show on his face. Daichi wonders, not for the first time, who actually _knows_. “Magic,” he dryly replies.

“There’s less magic in you than there is our Prince—” Suguru begins, haughty as per his norm, but he balks _immediately_ when he catches sight of Tooru’s guards, who have both turned to him at the sound of his loud voice. “Oh,” he says, little more than a breath, and Daichi isn’t certain he meant to say it at all.

Daichi becomes aware of a very quiet, very _growl-like_ sound coming from behind him, from Koutarou’s direction.

“Lord Witch, I apologize for my tone of voice,” Suguru says with a disarming smile. Tooru huffs and turns back to the doorway. “You’ve come prepared, General Oikawa.”

“Of course I did. Where is Koushi?”

“Not in bed,” Daichi grumbles. _Lord Witch?_ He knows Tooru’s two annoying guards are magical, but they aren’t witches.

It takes Daichi’s morning-dulled mind several more moments before the realization of the _other_ man next to Tooru strikes him. Suguru grabs the back of his shirt, out of sight, and tugs him away from any kind of gesture of surprise.

“Koushi cared for him. Why would he do this?” Tooru mutters, _almost_ quiet enough not to be heard.

But not quite.

“You believe General Sugawara did this?” Daichi asks, and Tooru’s head whips around as if he’d stung him. “Koushi was in my room last night.”

“And he’s gone this morning,” the not-witch guard pipes up. It’s the one with strawberry blond hair that had been assigned to Koushi during his stay in Daichi’s home. It is far too early to be fighting for names. “We understand this may be a conflict of interest, Your Highness, but this is—”

“Lieutenant Hanamaki, that’s enough,” Tooru cuts in. He glances down at the cuffs hidden beneath Daichi’s sleeves. Daichi rolls them up, to show him that he still wears them, and Tooru nods. “Tell me, directly, whether or not you had any hand in this. It will not reflect upon your intentions here, I assure you.” Lowering his voice, leaning in, he adds, “If at all permissible, no one else need know about this, should it be handled properly. Am I clear, Your Highness?”

“Very,” Daichi replies. He meets Tooru head-on, and tells him, “I had no hand in whatever happened to the assassin.”

Tooru cocks his head, thinking. “Alright then.”

He gestures Daichi toward the doorway, as if inviting him in. Daichi pushes past him, annoyed at his arrogance, but his irritation dies away at once when he sees what the room looks like.

Blood is splattered everywhere, staining the carpet and walls both. The sparse furniture has been upturned, and in some cases broken. The window, too small for a grown man to crawl through, is not broken, though cracked. Coal and logs from the fireplace are strewn about, furthering the mess, but little compares to the blood. There is _so much_ of it.

“Can… Can a man survive losing that much blood?” Daichi asks. Much of it is pooled on the floor, soaked into the carpet, and is either fresh enough or so high in volume that it has not dried.

“No man could,” Suguru quietly replies. “We’re certain it’s all the assassin’s?”

“Yeah, it’s his,” Koutarou grunts.

“We’ve confirmed it,” the other witch agrees.

“But there’s no body,” Tooru laments with inappropriate airiness to his voice. He spins on his heel, clasps the other witch on the shoulder, and as if it is only an afterthought, he says, “Hajime, have you even greeted His Highness properly? Be nice, now!”

When the other witch, Hajime, turns to face him, his eyes are brilliant forest green, yet cold as steel. “Don’t listen to him. He’s the one who forbade me from greeting you,” he mutters.

“Mean, Iwa!”

“As he insists on repeating every three seconds, this is Iwaizumi, one of the witches allied with the Council of Generals,” Hanamaki explains, while Tooru pouts childishly at them both. The room covered with blood is still in front of them. Tooru is acting as if this witch is some ancient pet of his. “You can call him Iwa, too, I’m sure he would adore that. Wouldn’t you?”

“I will bite your fingers off,” Hajime deadpans.

“May I introduce the Court Witch of Amicora, Lord Bokuto?” Suguru says, with all the proper decorum and gravity that both Tooru and Hanamaki refuse to show.

Koutarou is both taller and bulkier than Hajime. His grin is feral and overjoyed. “Pleasure,” he growls.

Hajime’s eyes narrow. “Likewise.”

Daichi does not want another fight between witches, especially with himself literally between them. There is also the matter of the investigation into the dead yet missing assassin. “Please, can we focus on figuring out what happened in here? It is disturbing to think of something this violent happening so close.”

“Rest assured, Your Highness, we will get to the bottom of this tragedy,” Tooru tells him with a winning smile.

 

—

 

Daichi has afternoon tea with General Kai, who is actually a pleasantly mild person to be around for extended periods of time. He had not mentioned anything related to the mystery in the guest wing. Daichi does not trust Tooru’s family, but he believes he had been at least telling the truth about keeping this from the other Generals.

When Daichi retires to his chambers before dinner, aiming to refresh his memory on the Generals’ backgrounds (as it has been deceptively easy to mix them up), Koushi is reading at the desk as if he never left.

Daichi stops short, then checks the hall behind him to ensure the knight following had not seen. He gives the man a tight smile, then shuts the door behind himself.

“I didn’t tell you because of the magic on you,” Koushi says as greeting. His expression and posture are both overly composed, holding himself too delicately to be natural. “It had been a calculated risk. I can tell you now, if you would like, but you still don’t know how to speak with those cuffs on you, and I won’t get a second chance.”

“I would very much like to know,” Daichi flatly replies.

“He’s not dead, of course.”

“I had assumed. But I’d already told you I would not kill him.”

“He was still a liability to you, Daichi. If you were caught imprisoning someone, even an assassin—who does not exist officially—it would be a disaster. There is no way they can prove that you or I had anything to do with this.”

Daichi sits on the edge of the bed, and allows Koushi to maintain their space by remaining seated at the desk. He closes the book, but draws nonsense patterns on its cover, pretending to give that his attention instead of Daichi. “I understand why you did this, and why you didn’t tell me first,” Daichi says, careful of the cuffs.

“Your witch knew,” Koushi easily admits.

“He… what?”

“I thought of trying to threaten your life somehow—innocently, of course—to draw him away, but in the end, it would not have been worth the risk. So I asked him to help. And all he asked me is whether or not it would help you.”

“Will it help me?” Daichi asks. He cannot believe how, but he would take Koutarou on faith. He’d like to think he could trust Koushi, too.

“You have an assassin indebted to you. I can think of many ways that would help you,” Koushi points out.

Daichi would rather act under his own power than rely on others, much less killers. But he is not so high and mighty that he wouldn’t accept help, wherever it comes. And he cannot lie, even to himself, and deny the fact that he’s wished the Lord-General gone at several different points in the past half a year.

So he replies, “Alright.”

 

—

 

Between pleasantries, formal greetings, and an assassination attempt, the schedule for the actual peace talks had been ruined from the beginning. Daichi does not know what Tooru has been saying to his mother, but it takes several more days after the bloody room had been cleaned before the Lord-General sends a summons for Daichi.

The first subject matter will be the betrothal. It is the easier topic to tackle, and the only one Daichi has confidence in.

But it is intimidating, even with Suguru and Koutarou at his side, to face down a table full of Setarian Generals. Nine, now, but all have returned from the field, and all are present for this summit.

Daichi exchanges easy (practiced) smiles with Koushi and waits for the Lord-General to address him. But she does not start with predictable summarizing, or even polite inquiries about any objections Daichi may have. He has already decided he’s going to give in on this one subject, so he can better argue for the later, more important one. Koushi is not the immediate threat.

But the Lord-General, hands laced on the table in front of her, tilts her head to one side and asks, “General Sugawara has been spending his nights in your chambers, has he not?”

Startled, Daichi can only nod. After a beat, he forces out an awkward, “Yes, he has.”

“What sort of manners must you have been raised with, with that cruel, tasteless man, to think this kind of base behavior is appropriate in the course of peace talks?” the Lord-General asks.

Heat rushes to Daichi’s face, and he shuts his mouth to prevent the initial bite back. _She’s trying to bait me_ , he reminds himself, though it does little to soothe his rising temper. “I’m—” Shit, he can’t even apologize, because he’s _not_ sorry. He has not done anything with Koushi that could be considered inappropriate, not past having him spend the nights with him. “I apologize f-for…” He wracks his brain, for _anything_ that could not be construed as a lie. “For…”

There are titters from the farther end of the table. Daichi does not dare glare in Tooru’s direction, and focuses instead on clenching and unclenching beneath the table. He catches sight of Koushi trying to mouth something to him, but for the life of him, he cannot read his lips.

“I apologize for… anything that could reflect poorly upon myself or my upbringing,” Daichi eventually forces out. He knows too much time has passed. He knows the Lord-General already has the advantage, even today, when Daichi is sure of himself.

He had been a fool for expecting anything but pinpointed poison from this woman.

General Washijou smacks the table and glares in the Lord-General’s direction. “What did you expect, allowing him so much time with the boys? I caught Tooru sneaking back from his wing at dawn just the other day. It’s not a matter of upbringing, it’s a matter of young men doing foolish horseshit, and then having the stones to think they’re getting away with it.”

“What are you insinuating about my _son_?” Lord-General Oikawa hisses, while Tooru turns red up to the roots of his hair.

“I have not bedded either General Sugawara or General Oikawa while I’ve been here,” Daichi dryly announces.

“You’ve thought about it,” General Washijou says with an imperious point in Daichi’s direction. Koutarou lets out a quiet growl. “And you were auctioning off your son just as much as that no-name nothing, just this spring. Embarrass the royal fool if you must, but don’t take the moral high ground about it, Nanashi.”

“Tanji, I will _not_ be undermined in my own peace summit,” the Lord-General retorts with a dangerous twist to her mouth.

Several of the Generals shift, as to better watch the argument unfolding. Daichi wonders how often this happens. Koushi shoots him a furtive, relieved smile from across the table.

“ _You_ are the one gambling with our lives, and we’re expected to carry on acting as if we _care_ what the young fools do in bed?”

“Yeah,” General Tanaka unexpectedly agrees, voice carrying even more than General Washijou’s. Chin on her fist, she grins, wide and sharp. “Do tell, Lord-General, how precisely you plan on carryin’ out these blood reparations of yours? You have not deigned to share your plans with us, nor with the young Prince, am I right?”

“One matter at a time,” Mei breaks in, cold as ice.

“We’re here today to discuss the details of a union between our countries,” Tooru agrees.

“I don’t care what kind of _union_ those two get into. I care about ending this war, and I care about the fact that you’re pulling _us_ into this hellish gamble of yours.”

At least Daichi has been largely forgotten in the ensuing chaos. In the past, he hadn’t understood how ten people, even nominally led by one, could rule a country together. This meeting only reinforces it.

_How do they accomplish anything?_ he wonders, half-awed, half-afraid by the notion. He supposes they each have one army or sect to lead, and there they have total control, but he doesn’t understand how they’re supposed to come together, when it hasn’t yet been an hour and it looks as if someone may begin throwing furniture. _Even Setaria has infighting, hm?_

Somehow, it’s very nearly reassuring. It sheds new light onto Koushi and Tooru’s secrecy, too, if they’re trying to avoid agitating this mess of strong personalities.

The meeting ends abruptly when a chair is, indeed, thrown. “Meeting adjourned! We resume this tomorrow, _after_ I speak with you two,” the Lord-General snarls, directing her words at Generals Washijou and Tanaka.

Daichi gratefully slinks out with his men in tow. Koushi slips out after him, despite the loud scoff even Daichi hears from Tooru.

“That went worse than even I was expecting,” Surugu says as soon as they’re out of earshot of the meeting chamber. “Your Highness, if I may be so bold…”

“Yes?” Daichi wearily asks.

“Tomorrow, you are fucked.”

Daichi is inclined to agree.

 

—

 

“I can’t be your ally in there,” Koushi says, apologetic, but defensive. He sits hunched in the farthest chair, arms folded and one knee drawn to his chest. He seems to take personal affront to everything that comes from Suguru’s mouth, which is understandable on any given day, though today, Daichi needs them to not argue for just a few moments. He has precious few allies here. “I am a General, and even so, my word doesn’t count for much. You can see they do not think highly of me.”

“So you’ll feel sympathy, but you won’t help us, and instead watch us drown in the vitriol that the Lord-General spews?” Suguru asks.

“ _What_ would you have me do?”

“Tell us about their inner workings, to begin with. There is much we don’t know about your Council, and if there is some way to play off of the chaos of today, then we have to seize our chance.”

“They are a unified front to any real threat. The moment you gain any advantage, you will have all of them dissecting your every point. You need better things to say, not to try exploiting some minute weakness—”

“Y’know, one time I argued with that friend of Tetsurou’s,” Koutarou interrupts. His voice is not loud, but there is something naturally forceful about a witch’s voice, Daichi thinks. Koutarou stares down at his hands, in his lap, and nudges his thumbs against each other. “He said Daichi isn’t cruel enough to be in charge of anything. I agreed. That wasn’t the part we argued about, though.”

“You are not doing much to soothe my headache, Kou,” Daichi says. Morisuke hushes him, and Daichi settles again, to allow the healer to massage his temples with magic and wonderful firmness.

“A certain amount of ruthlessness wouldn’t go against you now,” Suguru agrees. Even Koushi makes an assenting noise. “The King is truly throwing you to the wolves, isn’t he…”

“The King isn’t here now, so it does not matter,” Morisuke chides and moves his chair around a bit further, presumably to reach another point, but it feels as if he is shielding Daichi from the argument.

“I could have His Highness cowing even Lord-General Oikawa given two days and the full Setarian reports on each of the Generals,” Suguru says, “but speeches only work as speeches, not debate. And those truth-telling charms aren’t doing us any favors.”

“I had a solid six months of tutoring in how to speak properly while under the effects of magic,” Koushi murmurs. His voice is muffled, likely from being pressed to his bent leg. “We don’t have that.”

“Are they going to attack his character again?” Suguru asks sharply.

“Likely, but I doubt it will be from the same angle. He dismissed any claims of fucking either Tooru or myself, and if nothing else, they’re going to respect the cuffs. It’s no use beating a dead horse.”

“What if Daichi wasn’t the one doing the talking?” Koutarou suggests suddenly. Silence falls, but instead of retreating into self-consciousness, Koutarou brightens further with the thought of his idea. “Think of it as a puppeteer!”

“They have witches,” Suguru says flatly. “We’ll be caught, and that would be active interference with peace talks. If we want that route, then memorization is the way to go. The Prince _has_ presence, and he has a commanding voice, but he needs the conviction to back himself. As far as his personality, he can hold his own against the Lord-General, and even that hateful old man and the other loud woman. But he lacks either honesty, or his own conviction, and it’s biting us all in the ass now.”

“I honestly want peace between our countries,” Daichi grumbles. “Why must this be so complicated? I am even willing to submit to the betrothal. I am glad there is dissent among their ranks as far as those damned blood reparations go, but I’ve no doubt the Lord-General will think of some way to smooth this all over by tomorrow. Even if we had intimate knowledge of the Council, it wouldn’t do us any good to pick at the cracks in their armor.”

“Everyone has weaknesses to exploit,” Suguru points out with all the innocence he can muster. He sounds as if he is remarking upon the weather. “It’s difficult to gain sway over nine individuals, but it _is_ possible. Oh, I’m sorry, General. Eight. Not that we would need advantage over you.”

“My lord,” Morisuke whispers, leaning close to Daichi. Daichi opens his eyes to find Morisuke’s earnest expression just a breath from his own. Koushi’s response to Suguru is lost in the way Morisuke quietly asks, “Do you trust Daishou to have the necessary words and knowledge in your stead? Do you trust him as an ally of yours?”

Suguru is slippery and flattering and difficult to read, but so far, he has not betrayed what trust Daichi has put in him, despite his best interests. If Daichi had more options, he might not, but he _doesn’t_. So he nods.

“What if it His Highness wasn’t the one speaking?” Morisuke asks, at normal volume.

“We already said we couldn’t play marionette with Daichi,” Koutarou replies, sighing. “Wouldn’t work. _Probably._ ”

“Definitely,” Suguru and Koushi chorus back.

“They want to believe the attempt on his life was an illness. Use that against them.”

“But it _wasn’t_ ,” Koushi replies, frowning, with a rather attractive furrow in his brow.

Morisuke helps Daichi to sit up, but keeps a hand on his back. “There was a lot of damage done to my lord’s throat with that poison, even if he vomited most of it up. Perhaps because of it. And sore throats are a common enough symptom of many illnesses.”

“You want to… feign illness?” Daichi asks uncertainly.

“They would never believe that,” Suguru scoffs.

“They don’t want to admit there was enough lapse in security for an assassin to get so far as to make an attempt on your life, nor do they want to admit that he had been sent by one of the Generals. So, officially, it had been an illness. They cannot argue if this illness were to come back. Even if they did not believe it, it would buy us time, and Suguru is Daichi’s official advisor. He is permitted to speak in his lord’s stead in case of illness or injury, as previously demonstrated.”

Suguru does not look shamed—rather, he looks _excited_. “That is true,” he allows. His voice is composed, but his body language steadily becomes happier. “But that would involve an awful lot of trust, Your Highness.”

Daichi cannot help but make a face. He had been dearly hoping that Suguru would not notice, or, at the very least, not _comment_. “The options are you or Koutarou. Can you speak in my stead, for a day or two, and win us back an edge? While continuing my tutoring in how to better speak.”

“I bet I could win an argument against the Generals,” Koutarou idly remarks.

“I don’t want to see it, Kou,” Daichi replies. “We’re trying to avoid further war.”

“How quickly do you think this war would end if they were to _all_ die in some tragic accident?”

Koushi clears his throat. Koutarou doesn’t look particularly deterred.

“I believe I could earn us some headway,” Suguru says, and Daichi has rarely been so glad for his words. He still appears infuriatingly smug, however. “If nothing else, we could put the matter of the marriage behind us, and that should stop further insinuations about the nature of your current relationship with General Sugawara. Could he leave your bed and return to his own, now?”

“Actually,” Morisuke again interrupts. He carefully avoids eye contact with Daichi when he says, “His Highness will need some plausibility to this cover, thin as it is.”

Suguru’s smirk widens, and Koushi barely bites back a laugh. Daichi doesn’t understand, but at least Koutarou seems as perplexed as he feels. “My voice is fine, now. I’d rather not go through a second dose of that poison, even in a controlled amount.”

“I’m not going to _poison_ you, I’m a healer, not a murderer,” Morisuke quickly retorts, looking insulted by the very notion. Perhaps his anger is the reason why he frames the next part so bluntly. “I can mix you up a concoction to burn your throat again, mildly, or you can spend another night with your General.”

Daichi turns with a fresh eye and heated cheeks to Koushi. Koushi grins back at him, and spares him a coy wiggle of his fingers.

“Some stress relief could do you a world of good, too, my lord. Perhaps I wouldn’t have to maintain your migraines every other day, then,” Morisuke flatly tells him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Desperate times call for desperate measures, but there are worse costs to these sorts of things.


	24. your blood is my truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m beginning to believe good men don’t end wars,” Daichi replies.
> 
> “You will, one way or another.”

“I think that healer derives special joy from embarrassing me,” Daichi grumbles.

“You’re especially cute when you’re flustered,” Koushi replies, raking his hands through Daichi’s hair. Daichi closes his eyes and allows his head to be tipped back with the movement. He has missed Koushi’s hands on him.

“Even with everything else happening, I’d assumed you would initiate something as soon as possible, judging on the content of your letters.”

“It had been my initial plan, before Keiji had decided to insert himself into my affairs,” Koushi admits. He smooths Daichi’s hair back again, this time to lay a kiss upon his forehead. “However vulgar my intentions had been, poisoning tends to put a damper on things.”

“Thank you for not taking advantage of my feverish, unconscious state, then.”

“Even if I found that attractive, that healer of yours never left your side. I’d rather risk the witch as a guard,” Koushi tells him with no small amount of amusement. Daichi makes a questioning noise. Before answering, Koushi presses another light kiss against his forehead. “I don’t trust anyone with that much knowledge of the human body. Anyone can kill, Daichi. Don’t trust those who know how to kill _painfully_.”

“He’s a healer,” Daichi murmurs, “he is sworn to protect life and health. Even with his temper.”

“And I’m glad he’s here for you. But if there were a line of people between you and I, he would be the first to give me pause.”

“You should tell him that. He’d find it endlessly entertaining,” Daichi replies, chuckling at the very image.

“The last thing I need is you or any of your people with _more_ power over me.”

“Fair enough.” Daichi reopens his eyes, and finds Koushi smiling down at him, soft and tender. “I’ve missed you,” Daichi tells him.

“And I you. Terribly. Keiji gave me no end of teasing when I told him I wanted those drawings, by the way. Wouldn’t stop laughing at me, even during. If you had ever been jealous, I can assure you, it was hardly sexual. I had difficulty even maintaining hardness with how much he was laughing at me. My delicate constitution is not built for other men to laugh at my cock!”

As much as Daichi does not wish to think of the assassin now, much less in any pleasant terms, he _does_ find the idea a _little_ humorous. “I would never,” he tells Koushi.

“I should _hope_ not,” Koushi huffs. He tugs, just a little, on Daichi’s hair. Daichi grins in an effort not to laugh, and allows his eyes to fall closed again as Koushi resumes his petting. “This is a very desperate plan, for the record. Have you always been this off kilter when dealing with Setaria?”

“Always,” Daichi replies.

“It will buy us time, but that is temporary. How will you face the blood reparations? Suguru may be talented with words, but no one can become something else overnight. You only have so much time to learn.”

“You don’t know what the Lord-General is planning with the blood reparations?” Daichi asks.

Koushi falls still, and Daichi reopens his eyes. Koushi does not look away, but gone is the warm atmosphere. “I do know,” he sadly informs him, “and I cannot tell you.”

Daichi sighs.

Koushi resumes petting him, almost desperately, and curls around Daichi to press more kisses against any exposed skin. “I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry. I know this is frustrating for you. But I wish for peace, same as you, and I believe in your ideals, Daichi. You’re a very good man.”

“I’m beginning to believe good men don’t end wars,” Daichi replies.

“You will, one way or another.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“No, no,” Koushi shushes, and shuts Daichi’s mouth himself with feather-light touches against his lips. “I don’t want further harm to befall you, and I will do everything in my power to prevent it. Oh, if only you were half as heartless as the Lord-General and allowed these reparations, Daichi. You would save both our countries much trouble. You would even give the Lord-General pause.”

“…So the blood reparations _are_ a bluff? She doesn’t expect me to accept them?” Daichi asks, cracking open an eye again.

Koushi shakes his head; he cannot say more on the subject. Instead, he asks, “How would you like to proceed with the evening? You’ll need a believable hoarseness to allow Suguru to speak for you.”

He trails a hand down from Daichi’s hair, to his jaw, then draws lines beneath his collarbones. “I had assumed I’d be gagging on your cock tonight,” Daichi replies.

Koushi’s hand stills, and he blinks in confusion. “I’d assumed I was tasked with making you scream yourself hoarse.”

They stare at each other, and Koushi breaks it first with an undignified snort. Daichi soon follows, and Koushi buries his face in Daichi’s chest to try to muffle his laughter. Daichi wraps an arm around his shoulders as they both shake with mirth.

“It’s a good thing I asked, then!” Koushi exclaims, delighted, and pulls his head up enough to meet Daichi’s eye. “Those have two _very_ different approaches, after all.”

“Which would you prefer? Or do you have any _other_ creative ideas I might not have thought of?”

“Which do _you_ prefer?”

“I want an honest opinion from you,” Daichi tells him, and reaches down to card his hand through Koushi’s fluffy hair. “And I think it’s about time you stop playing coy and let _me_ do some of the work, too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Koushi’s eyes slide away from him and he smiles wryly. “I suppose I wasn’t very subtle.”

“I’ve yet to touch you properly. That’s something a man notices.”

“I had assumed it wouldn’t be becoming for a Prince to— _ah_! Daichi!” Koushi starts when Daichi pulls, hard, on his hair.

“Any lover I take is my equal in bed.”

“We have yet to use a bed,” Koushi points out. Daichi pulls on his hair again, and with another gasp, he relents. “I had assumed you were used to attentions on you. I was aiming to please you, that’s all. My station is not so much lower than yours that I would be subservient for the thrill of it, Daichi.”

 _Aiming to please you_ , Daichi thinks, with a sour taste on his tongue. The Lord-General had bid a man who used to fuck for coin to flirt with and seduce a foreign Prince. Koushi had always seemed terribly earnest; Daichi should not have been so distracted by the Generals’ overwhelming pride to forget this.

Daichi releases Koushi’s hair, and it is his turn to smooth it away and place gentle kisses upon Koushi’s brow. “I did not mean insult. You seemed to enjoy it at the time, and it’s not as if I found it unpleasant,” Koushi murmurs with a decent attempt at mirth. But Daichi can tell he’s treading carefully now.

Daichi presses another kiss to his temple, then reaches for his hand. “Just because I am the Prince does not mean I wish to be catered to and fretted over like that. No more of that. Let me touch you, too, and you had better not hold your tongue about anything you want from me, either.”

“I’ll keep this in mind,” Koushi replies. He smiles when Daichi kisses his palm. “How about we start this new path of honesty and equality by figuring out how tonight is supposed to happen?”

“How would _you_ like it?” Daichi counters.

Koushi laughs, helplessly, and cups Daichi’s cheek. He turns him to face him. “We’re _both_ going to have to be forthcoming. I don’t trust those cuffs, and I don’t have any sense for what you’re comfortable with or have experience in. The last thing I want to do is spook you.”

“I’m sorry to say I’m not some blushing virgin,” Daichi says flatly, “and you very well know that.”

“But you’re three years younger than I, and you have yet to share any of _your_ brothel exploits with me. This leads to more assumptions, Daichi.” Koushi taps him on the nose, and Daichi tries to bite him. Koushi’s smile slips into a smirk. “Shall we turn this into a game? Or are you going to keep dodging questions and acting shy?”

“ _You_ are accusing _me_ of dodging questions?” Daichi incredulously retorts.

“Mine comes with my job. You are just playing coy.”

“You have yet to share a single thing about yourself and your tastes.”

Koushi seems to ponder this, and again he taps Daichi’s nose. This time, Daichi catches his finger, and nips at the end as a warning. This teasing is carrying on a little too long. “I’ll admit,” Koushi begins, theatrically slowly, until Daichi glares at him while reining in a smile, “that when you first brought up the concept of stress relief, I’d had a much different image in mind.”

“Like what?”

Instead of answering, Koushi repositions them. Daichi finds himself flat on his back on the bed, and Koushi looms over him. He dips down to give Daichi a fleeting kiss on the mouth. Daichi smiles, expectant, but Koushi continues to surprise him: he grabs Daichi’s wrists, and brings both of them up over his head, pinning them with one of his hands.

Daichi blinks up at him. Koushi’s grin seems sharper than before.

Daichi tries to free himself, out of curiosity, but Koushi maintains his strong grip. “Ah,” is all Daichi says. His expectant look for Koushi returns, but now there is no more teasing in it. He has held down partners in the past, both to please himself and to please them, but he has never been on this side of things.

He cannot help but wonder how many past lovers were under the same impression as Koushi about the attentions the Prince deserves.

“Most think of stress relief as something a far sight more _thorough_ than you seemed to desire. A complete and utter sacrifice of power in order to spend an evening without a thought in their head outside of the pleasure,” Koushi says, and carefully lowers his weight onto Daichi’s thighs. He must stretch up over him to keep his wrists pinned, but he is more than capable. “But I had not dared push you, then. I know you’ve been distracted by so many troubles since coming to Setaria, but maybe we could be more thorough now?”

Daichi swallows. Very little about this position is new; just the last time they were intimate, Koushi had rode him until all they could do was gasp out half-words into each other’s mouths. But with Daichi’s hands above him and knowing that, for once, they have all the time they could want, the arousal curling into his belly takes on a less urgent tone. Interested, for sure. But also a thin note of uncertainty.

Koushi sizes him up like a predator scenting prey.

Daichi wonders if he likes it.

Koushi’s free hand trails down from his jaw to the loosened collar of his shirt. He manages to undo the first button one-handed, but the second gives him pause. Tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, he tries for several long moments. Much of the heated atmosphere fades with this unexpected delay, but Daichi feels no less warm.

When Koushi spares him a flat look, Daichi tries his very best to seem like he’s not going to laugh.

“Keep your hands up there,” Koushi orders, and releases him. Daichi is about to immediately disobey, but Koushi casually adds, “If you move them, I’ll have to punish you.”

“Punish?” Daichi parrots, unable to help himself. No one _punishes_ the Crown Prince. Well, to be fair, he had been whipped, and he’d very much not like to repeat that, even in sexual play.

…Perhaps this is why Koushi thought him a spoilt royal.

“Alright,” Daichi acquiesces without waiting for an answer. He keeps his arms raised in submission over his head. “I’m curious about that punishment of yours, so you know, but I’ll behave for the moment.”

Koushi, having unbuttoned half of Daichi’s shirt now, kisses his sternum. “Thank you. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I’ve no doubt of that, but when this conversation began, I had assumed more touching and less taking orders from enemy Generals.”

“This isn’t modesty or teasing. This is about stress relief.”

“I’d _like_ to touch you,” Daichi amends.

Shirt unbuttoned and pulled from his trousers, Koushi pauses over him, head tilted in thought. To Daichi’s surprise, there are no more orders, and no further coyness. “Alright,” Koushi replies, then adds, “for now. Later, we’ll see how well you behave, you spoilt thing.”

That answers that. Daichi hesitantly lowers his arms, and, watching Koushi for any sign of argument, he rests his hands on Koushi’s hips. Koushi slides up enough to make this comfortable, and place himself squarely over Daichi’s burgeoning arousal.

Koushi’s smile is once again bright and sincere when he leans down to kiss him again.

Daichi allows Koushi to lead the pace, and he finds that he likes it this way. Koushi is gentle but firm, and now that Daichi is open to it, it is easy to follow his lead. Koushi has no shame in moving Daichi’s hands, or grinding down against him, or turning their kiss something open-mouthed and filthy.

With one last bite to Daichi’s bottom lip, on the edge of too hard, Koushi turns and noses along Daichi’s jaw, then licks a stripe down his throat. Daichi obligingly tilts his head back.

But he jumps when Koushi bites his neck in earnest.

Koushi takes the jerk of his body in stride, pushing back down against his hips with a low sound, and Daichi presses them flush with one hand on Koushi’s hip and the other on his ass. Koushi saws his teeth into the thinner skin of Daichi’s neck, hard enough to surely bruise, leave a mark of possession—

A mark that the Generals tomorrow will _certainly see_. “Koushi—!”

“Relax, Daichi,” Koushi murmurs against his throat. He places small, innocent pecks against the tender spot. “I know how high the collar of your uniform comes up.”

“That has to be pushing it,” Daichi replies, and he sounds far more harassed than he likes.

Revenge, however slight, comes in the noise Koushi lets out when Daichi squeezes his ass and thrusts up against him. (Daichi will take what victories he can.)

Koushi does not attack his neck again, but instead leans back, unbuttoning his own shirt with a charming attempt at a cross expression.

As soon as he pulls it off, Daichi runs his hands up Koushi’s lean chest. He wishes to ask about the scars he sees, but now is not the time—though he cannot stop himself from tracing a few of them. Koushi shudders at the drag of Daichi’s fingers under his ribs. Light bruises line his arms again, now almost familiar to Daichi, though he finds the sight odd without the silver of the cuffs interrupting them.

Daichi takes one of Koushi’s arms and kisses the pulse in his wrist. “You still hide things in your sleeves?”

“We can’t take pistols into the meeting chambers,” Koushi replies.

Daichi himself goes into the peace meetings with a dagger strapped to a holster hidden beneath his jacket, so he cannot fault Koushi. He massages the darkened skin and kisses him again. “You’re so pale, it always stands out when you get hurt like this.”

“You’re terribly sweet. It’s only making me want to silence you all that much more.”

“And what will you silence me with?”

“I thought you wanted niceties to begin with,” Koushi teases, and rocks down against Daichi again. Daichi still does not know what direction this night will head in, but he enjoys this push and pull between them.

“I want _you_ ,” Daichi replies, “regardless of how, and regardless of what a minx you’re trying to be.”

“ _Trying_?” Koushi asks like he’s offended. He pulls his arm free of Daichi’s grasp and pins Daichi to the bed once more. Every movement is calculated—over-thought, Daichi would hazard. He’d love to see Koushi undone enough to let go of all of that thinking, just for a time.

But he wants to see what Koushi’s over-thought desires lead to as well.

“I thought you were a _professional_ ,” Daichi tells him.

Koushi’s eyes narrow. His hips still against his. “You have no idea what I could do to you. You ask for soft things, and then you misbehave. Or is that deliberate too?”

Daichi hadn’t thought so, but he can’t deny any enjoyment of trying to get a rise out of Koushi. His silence is telling.

Koushi frowns, but there’s some edge to it that tells Daichi that he’s not truly angry. (Or perhaps that’s his arousal still pressing against his.) “I ought to mark you up and show the Council what we’re _really_ up to. Try to save face with them while you’re bruised up to your jawline, Daichi.” Koushi pulls Daichi’s head aside with fingers fisted tight in his short hair; if that were not stinging enough, he bites down again on the side of his neck, this time with none of the finesse or kissing as before.

Daichi makes some wordless sound, loud in the otherwise silent room, and his body betrays him with the way his hips cant upward to seek friction.

Daichi _feels_ Koushi grin against him as he laps lazily against the spot he’d just bitten.

“If you make me bleed, Koutarou will come,” Daichi gasps.

Koushi has the gall to snicker, this time, breath puffing out cool against his wet skin. Daichi hopes it’s just with saliva. “Your witch knows what we’re doing in here.”

“He doesn’t trust you,” Daichi points out. He does not know why he’s even bothering with this struggle to save his pride. He _had_ rather asked for it.

But the thrill of Koushi overcoming him and his defenses makes it somehow _better_. Daichi hisses out a breath when Koushi pulls his head to the other side, but this time, he just noses along his throat. “He _wanted_ this plan, too. Perhaps more than any man ought to. Do you think any of your men get off on the idea of the Setarian General ruining you like this? Do you think your witch enjoys it?”

“Koushi,” Daichi warns, this time serious. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“Sorry,” Koushi replies at once and presses a quick, sweet kiss to the hinge of Daichi’s jaw. He releases his grip in his hair, petting over him a few times, then cups Daichi’s cheek with all the gentleness of before. He turns Daichi to face him, and their noses brush. Koushi’s copper eyes are twice as dark as usual from lust, but still they’re warm. “Please tell me if I say or do anything that upsets you. Truly upsets you, none of that whining you were doing earlier.”

“I wasn’t _whining_ ,” Daichi petulantly replies.

His wrists, laying above his head with one of Koushi’s hands on them, press down against the bed with the magical force of a lie. Daichi grunts at the twist in his shoulders—nothing terrible, but he had not been expecting it—and Koushi pulls back with a curious blink.

Daichi must take a moment to steel his dwindling pride.

But before he admits that he _had_ been whining (the definition must be unclear, surely), Koushi draws a finger down Daichi’s topmost forearm. “What if you stayed like this?” he suggests with a frightful amount of innocence, considering Daichi could feel his interest in this development.

Daichi stares up at him, processing the request. His brain seems slowed to molasses, thick and syrupy, and Koushi breaks into a blindingly _sly_ smile. He slides up, so they aren’t nose to nose, and perches himself on Daichi’s hips, _just_ above where he truly wants him.

The truth remains on the tip of Daichi’s tongue, but he doesn’t speak.

“I’ve never worked with magical restraints, but I know how solidly those can hold someone. Think of the weight pinning you to the bed as me, but it frees up my hands to do _other_ things,” Koushi continues, and walks his fingers down Daichi’s sternum. Daichi remains silent. “You can rescind the lie at any time, free yourself whenever. But you could also keep it this way, and give yourself over to _my_ definition of stress relief.”

“I’m supposed to be going hoarse,” Daichi reminds him, instead of freeing himself.

Koushi’s eyes positively sparkle. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Your Highness. I’m a _professional_ , remember?”

“I didn’t mean it as insult,” Daichi mutters and turns his head from him. He doesn’t have very far to go, like this, however.

“I didn’t take it as one,” Koushi replies. He pats Daichi’s bare chest like a well-behaved dog. Daichi is about to retort, just to maintain their banter, but Koushi walks his fingers over to one of his nipples and gives it a vicious twist. Daichi gasps and jerks beneath him. “ _There’s_ a response. Do you like this? Has anyone ever done this for you?” Koushi asks as calmly as if he’s inquiring about some mundane daily routine.

Daichi grits his teeth and refuses to answer. Koushi tilts his head to the side, considering, and then smooths his other hand down until he pinches Daichi’s other nipple between deft fingers.

Daichi, again, hisses out a shuddering breath. He wishes Koushi would move downward enough to give his cock _some_ friction, but he remains as he is, straddling his stomach instead.

“Some men don’t like it,” Koushi continues, conversationally, “but I would hazard a _wild_ guess and say that you do. You’ve very sensitive, Daichi. I like it.”

Daichi braces himself against that edge of pain, arms trembling against his makeshift restraints, but Koushi seems to read him as well as any book. He releases him, and instead shifts into something a bit gentler, more teasing. A short term relief. But it wrings a groan from his throat, when Koushi idly circles one stiff peak with his nail.

“I can keep guessing, or you could tell me what you like,” Koushi suggests.

“You know enough,” Daichi grinds out, “what about _you_?”

He means to gain some semblance of power back. But Koushi’s smile is small, and feral, and smug. “I enjoy lots of things, Daichi.”

He pulls his hand away from Daichi’s chest, and instead runs his hands over his own torso. Daichi jerks against the cuffs. Koushi’s smirk widens.

He tweaks his own nipple and lets out a breathy little sigh. He shifts and rubs himself on Daichi’s firm stomach. “And you _so_ wanted to touch me, didn’t you. I could show you all the spots I— _ah_ —” and that little noise sends such heat shooting down to Daichi’s neglected arousal, he cannot bite back a sound of his own, “—I could show you where I enjoy being touched most. I prefer a firm touch, and I’ve often thought about your big hands on me, Daichi. _Properly_ on me, allowing you to have your way with me.”

Koushi runs his hands down to the tented fabric of his pants, then skips over that entirely. He instead braces himself on Daichi’s stomach, and tortuously slowly, he moves downward until his hardness _finally_ presses against Daichi’s once more. Daichi tips his head back with a rough sigh, hands clenching in the sheets above him. “Then let me,” Daichi tells him, voice already strained.

“Perhaps next time,” Koushi dismissively replies. He rocks against Daichi in the steadiest, _slowest_ pace Daichi could ever imagine. He does not understand how Koushi can stand it.

“Please,” Daichi says, but does not follow it up with another thought. His hands clench and unclench.

When he risks another glance down at Koushi, for he has not increased his pace nor answered Daichi’s first plea, he finds him sucking on his own fingers. Two of them, cheeks hollowed for a moment, but when he notices Daichi’s eye he parts his lips to show Daichi his tongue between them.

Koushi reaches down to ghost his fingers down Daichi’s chest once more. The air cools the wet skin he leaves in his wake, and Daichi’s breath hitches when he again pinches a nipple. His mouth soon follows, hot tongue following the cold, and Daichi’s next breath stutters out as a rough exhale.

Koushi continues his little rocking movements on Daichi’s lap. It is enough to keep Daichi from tearing himself from his bonds out of frustration—but that, too, is its own kind of frustration. “Koushi,” Daichi groans and bucks his hips upward to make his point.

“Something you wanted?” Koushi asks and drags his teeth against the meat of Daichi’s chest.

“You.”

Koushi chuckles, and to Daichi’s surprise, he raises up onto his knees and begins to pull down his pants. It takes some maneuvering, but he kicks them off without straying too far from Daichi, and then reaches for Daichi's belt. Daichi is all too eager to help him with this.

Koushi does not touch him, in fact keeps all his contact with him as minimal as possible, but at least they are both laid bare at last.

Daichi flexes against the cuffs. Koushi looks amazing, poised over him, drinking him in as much as Daichi is. He wishes to touch.

But he wishes, more than that, to know what Koushi’s mind may be capable of. He seems to have plans—he _always_ seems to have plans—and even if this does not further anything in the peace effort, it would be nice to get a glimpse into his thoughts for once. However vulgar those thoughts may be.

So he keeps the truth swallowed and his arms pinned and his body on display for an enemy General.

Daichi takes brief, vindictive pleasure in what his father and the Lord-General would think of such a thing.

Koushi reaches up, past Daichi’s head, into the pillows. Daichi’s eyebrows raise when he sees the glass vial. “Do you keep _everything_ under pillows? Specifically _mine_?”

“I’ve been staying here, too,” Koushi replies and taps Daichi gently on the forehead with the vial. “But yes. It is easy to pay off maids, and difficult for would-be interlopers to gain entry to bedchambers. Are you complaining about my planning abilities? It seems convenient, now, doesn’t it,” he teases.

Daichi’s brow furrows. “How _long_ have you been hiding that?”

“Too long, perhaps.”

Daichi narrows his eyes. “Is that a jab at me?”

“Never let anyone say you're not a deeply astute man, Daichi,” Koushi responds. His eyes twinkle with mischief, the kind that Daichi finds himself curious about. So he sighs, letting the remark go, and letting himself lay passively spread before Koushi again.

Part of him agrees—it has taken too long. Both in a general sense, and this night particularly. Restrained though he is, his body thrums with restless, frustrated energy. He is unused to lacking a vent for things such as this. He is not suited for long bouts of teasing; he craves satisfaction already. He needs Koushi to touch him, soon.

Koushi is not a man without mercy, however. Daichi jolts when he feels fingers skimming again down his chest. He tenses in anticipation as they skate close to his nipple, but Koushi's hand delves lower instead, at last. He feels out the planes of Daichi’s abdominals, and Daichi nearly stops breathing, overwhelmed by the light, yet tantalizing sensation on his skin as the hand dips ever closer to his arousal.

 _Closer_ , he urges without opening his mouth, eyes shut tight, long since unable to handle the sight of Koushi crouched over him.

“Daichi.”

Daichi cracks open an eye at that. He does not know how much tension is obvious—any more obvious than the strain in his shoulders or sweat beading on his brow—but Koushi must like something he sees. He grins again, but it is colored with softness and affection.

“You’re so quiet,” Koushi says and slowly slides the tips of his fingers down Daichi’s length. Daichi cants his hips upward into the touch, and Koushi draws his hand away entirely. “ _Sni roka pokukt glotir, kvana_ ,” Koushi adds, an afterthought to himself.

Daichi hardly processes the words himself, but his body reacts to the sound of some foreign tongue faster than his brain could ever comprehend.

He lets out a particularly incriminating noise, cock giving a hearty twitch in Koushi’s loose grasp, and Koushi’s eyes _light up_.

“Oh, _really_ , Daichi?” Koushi purrs with a grin like a knife. “Tired of Continental all the time?”

Daichi tosses his head to the side and buries his face in his own shoulder. Embarrassment burns at him, warms his face, but his heart yearns for the smug little sound Koushi makes when he grasps him once more. Daichi gratefully thrusts into his grip, and to his amazement, Koushi allows him to.

“ _Sot fvekty znys trir, kvana_?” Koushi asks and Daichi bites his lip against a moan. “Come now, Daichi. You’re _supposed_ to be loud.”

He knows. He _knows_. “This isn’t anything I’m used to,” he replies, aggravated because of his embarrassment, but at least his voice already sounds rough from frustration and arousal.

Koushi’s voice dips even lower. Daichi can’t hear half of his words—he just registers the smooth, flowing cadence of his voice, the soft sounds of the vowels combined with the harsher consonants. He has no idea what he is saying. Daichi finds he doesn’t care.

He cares even less when Koushi’s slick finger trails down the crease of his hip and past his cock, between his legs. When Koushi releases him, to his disappointment, Daichi’s hips tilt at nothing. He catches his breath and blearily raises his head again.  

“Relax, _kvana_ ,” Koushi tells him just for the little shudder it elicits.

“What are you calling me?” Daichi pants.

“ _Relax_. I will tell you if you continue to behave.”

It has been some time since Daichi has been in this position, and he feels it must be obvious. Koushi rubs against him with patience, waiting until Daichi has caught his breath and begins to squirm again with restless energy.

“How are you going to become believably hoarse if you don't do your part in this?” Koushi asks as he slides in the first finger. Daichi hisses out a breath.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, then,” Daichi replies with his own halfhearted grin. “I’m not used to being the one taken care of.”

“You’ll have to get used to this. I like taking care of people,” Koushi replies and pulls Daichi’s leg up further so he may press a kiss to the inside of his thigh. “Must I mention stress relief again?”

Daichi huffs out a laugh. It draws out into a longer, louder noise as Koushi begins moving his finger in earnest. Daichi _tries_ , he truly does, but he’s not loud in bed. Perhaps this foolish plan had been doomed from the start, even if Koushi does not seem worried yet.

Daichi jumps when Koushi _bites_ into the muscle of his thigh. He does, technically, make a noise, but he would not define it as anything particularly arousing.

Daichi raises his head to glare at his lover, but Koushi grins against his skin, teeth whiter for the contrast. “Are you ever _not_ smug and controlling when bedding someone?” Daichi grouses and flops back onto the over-plush pillows.

“ _Sot sni xazotir, kvana-smys_ ,” Koushi tells him and Daichi hates that he _loves_ the sound of Koushi’s native tongue. No man has any right sounding so _nice_. Daichi begins to rethink his desires to visit Canuste, if Koushi is going to train him into thinking only of vulgar things while listening to the language.

Koushi keeps talking to him, keeping his tone even and frustratingly calm, despite the way Daichi shifts and squirms against him. One finger becomes two, and while the stretch is uncomfortable, it’s not unpleasant. Koushi remains patient. It’s not easy to miss the practiced ease with which he adapts to any of Daichi’s movements.

Daichi tries, too, to keep himself from biting back any sounds. Embarrassment leaves him, gradually, as Koushi works another finger into him. Daichi is beginning to pick up on certain words Koushi repeats—that _kvana_ more and more—and he realizes that in addition to simply loving Koushi’s mother tongue, the thrill of _not knowing_ what his lover is saying to him excites him nearly as much.

Daichi braces against the weight of the cuffs and rides down onto Koushi’s fingers as much as he is able. Koushi puts a hand on his hip, both to guide him and to prevent too much movement. Koushi maintains his control with his usual precision.

But Daichi _feels_ ready. Largely, he feels impatient, but Koushi’s fingers are talented, and his patience far outweighs Daichi’s own. After a few too many frustrated groans that Koushi insists on ignoring, Daichi finally grits out, “ _Koushi_ , please.”

Koushi tilts his head with a coy, innocent smile. “Please what, Your Highness?”

Daichi both hopes and desperately wishes that Koushi does _not_ repeat that in his own language. “Enough teasing already.”

“You think _that_ is teasing?” Koushi asks, smile widening. This time, when he plunges his fingers back into Daichi, he curls them, and Daichi arches off the bed with a strangled shout. Koushi pushes him back down flush, and continues to assault that spot inside him with a smile on his face. “You do not _know_ what teasing is, _nazot kvana_.”

“ _Please_ ,” Daichi begs through a clenched jaw. He pulls against the cuffs restraining him, and his legs tremble. He holds himself still—as best he can—both because his pride will not allow himself to give into Koushi’s torturous ministrations, and because he truly fears he could kick the man. That would put a damper on things.

“Please _what_ ,” Koushi replies and shoves Daichi’s legs open even wider. He braces his weight in between them and leans forward as much as he is able. “You don’t get to issue orders here, Daichi. You are not the one in control tonight. I will not indulge a spoilt Prince—if you ask nicely, and behave as you should, then I will take care of you as _I_ see fit.”

Daichi bites his tongue against asking Koushi to repeat that in Canus.

Koushi leans more of his weight onto Daichi, stilling his fingers for a blessed moment, and Daichi’s chest heaves. He feels as if he has run miles despite just _laying_ here.

But with more of Koushi’s weight upon him, Daichi’s shoulders twinge, and his arms begin to protest their strain. Daichi tries to ignore it, especially when Koushi whispers lilting, foreign words in a voice like honeyed wine, but it isn’t long before Daichi gasps out, “Koushi, stop. Wait.”

Koushi sits back, otherwise stilling. “Is everything alright?”

“My arms.” Daichi blinks up at him, some of the haze leaving, though his body still thrums with impatience. “Ah, they’re getting sore. I don’t think I can remain like this for much longer.” It feels silly, to say it aloud, and he turns his head again to avoid Koushi’s concerned gaze.

Koushi smooths his free, clean hand against Daichi’s hip, up to his waist. “You’re alright,” he soothes, in that same low, smoky tone, and Daichi relaxes just a little. “But _you’re_ the one keeping yourself there, have you forgotten?”

The embarrassment comes back. Daichi swallows once, then twice, before he can mumble, “I’ve forgotten what I lied about.”

Koushi hides his laugh, as much as he is able in his surprise. Daichi’s frown deepens. “No, no, I’m sorry for laughing! Here,” he says, and gently pulls his fingers free. Daichi shudders again. Koushi pets at him, avoiding his most sensitive places. “Alright, you were… Wasn’t it about you _whining_? Which, I would like to say, you have been doing quite a bit of.”

“I have not,” Daichi replies on reflex. Then, “…I have. Been whining.”

With that, the weight holding him vanishes, and he groans as he brings his arms back down.

Koushi wipes his slick hand on the inside of Daichi’s thigh, then reaches to guide Daichi’s arms down, around his shoulders, and kneads at Daichi’s biceps to encourage better circulation again. Daichi, as touched as he is by the gesture, cannot help but make a face at the mess on his thigh.

Koushi laughs, a little meanly, and teases Daichi with more foreign words and nipping at his neck. Daichi is caught between embarrassed laughter and more harassed sounds as their hips press flush together.

“Keep your arms around me,” Koushi murmurs, right in his ear, lips ghosting around the shell of it. Daichi shivers. “Would you like to continue now? Or do I mark you up further to show my fellows what we’ve been doing?”

“I think you ought to stop drawing this out with the intent to torture me,” Daichi replies, grinning.

“I’m not certain you understand the word torture, Daichi,” Koushi replies with a faux frown.

“Maybe not,” Daichi says, careful of the cuffs now that he can maintain half a thought, “but my patience is fraying. I know you must enjoy the sight of me beneath you, but let’s _go_.”

He punctuates this with an upward thrust of his hips, grinding his arousal against Koushi’s, and Koushi gasps against his neck. Daichi vows one day to unravel Koushi, too.

“Don’t forget to remain mouthy while I’m fucking you,” Koushi reminds him.

He sits back on his haunches, and Daichi’s hands fall limply to his sides. Koushi gives his hand a squeeze before making a gesture. It takes several guesses for Daichi to understand him; he pulls pillows down from around his head for Koushi, and he shoves them beneath his hips.

Daichi feels his face burn. “Am I some woman you’re bedding?”

Koushi rolls his eyes, and Daichi huffs, peeved. “This feels good for _anyone_. I would ask if you suddenly don’t trust me, but I don’t care to test that right now, and if nothing else, you should trust my _experience_ since you’re so fond of throwing it back at me. I want you to feel good, but not if you’re going to be a blushing fool about the silliest things.”

“Don’t scold me while we’re about to have sex,” Daichi complains.

“Then don’t earn it, Your Highness.”

Daichi can’t kick him like this, but he does nudge his hip with his knee. He doesn’t mean to argue, but Koushi has set him off kilter, and he is unused to this kind of play. Still, he does not wish to _actually_ argue, nor doubt Koushi’s somewhat intimidating confidence. So he replies, half a grumble, “I do. Trust you, both in this, and perhaps out of bed.”

Koushi pauses, one hand on Daichi’s thigh, the other around his own cock. Daichi cannot help but crack a smile at the earnest amazement open on his face. “Oh,” is all he ends up saying.

Daichi throws an arm over his face to hide his own satisfaction. “Now please hurry up, before I say anything else I later regret.”

“Do you think I could make you beg?” Koushi asks, again pausing, though this time with his cock pressed against Daichi. Daichi lets out an aggravated, rough noise, and tries to shift his hips downward, to chase that pressure, but Koushi does not allow him.

“I have faith in your astounding capabilities, but _please_ , don’t make me fight my pride any more than I have,” Daichi says, near pleading, and Koushi hums, pleased.

“Alright, alright, _kvana_ ,” Koushi says and finally, _finally_ , presses into Daichi.

Both of them groan, but remembering their purpose, Daichi allows his mouth to fall open as he tilts his head back into the pillows. Koushi pushes forward slowly, but steadily, and soon, he leans over Daichi once more in order to tug his arms back over his shoulders. Daichi thanks his blunt nails, but he wouldn’t mind marking Koushi half as much as he’s left _his_ mark.

Koushi swallows his moan as he seats himself fully within Daichi. The kiss remains chaste, but open-mouthed, mixing their breathing and sounds equally.

Daichi opens his eyes, blearily, and Koushi pulls away just enough to kiss his cheek. “You feel wonderful,” he murmurs against his skin.

Daichi chuckles, breathless and strung-out and unlike himself. “You, too.”

Koushi hums again and rocks forward, just a little. His hips dig into the backs of Daichi’s thighs; they are pressed as close as can humanly be, and Daichi finds himself seeking _more_.

“Louder, if you’d please, _kvana_ ,” Koushi murmurs in his ear.

Daichi means to ask what that word is, means to question the ease with which it rolls off Koushi’s tongue, but he would swear Koushi _waits_ until Daichi opens his mouth to _really_ start ramming into him. Daichi’s question instead comes out a wordless shout.

Koushi makes a pleased noise against Daichi’s throat, innocently nosing there as if he’s done nothing wrong.

Koushi’s pace is relentless after that. Daichi cannot fault him for taking this evening to be a personal mission, but he’s unused to this kind of insistent roughness when no one is hiding behind alcohol. Half the time he cannot properly catch his breath, exhales coming out in cracks and shouts and groans that leave him as if pulled violently from his lungs. It is pleasant, but utterly overwhelming.

Daichi finds himself digging his fingers into Koushi’s back just for something to hold onto. His short nails catch at skin, but Koushi is only spurred on by whatever pain he may be feeling, growling into the base of Daichi’s throat.

Koushi bites at the tender flesh there, and Daichi throws his head back to allow him better access. Koushi does not bite any harder, but instead laves his tongue against existing marks, sore spots that have Daichi shuddering against each prod and lick.

With one last teasing scrape of his teeth downward, against Daichi’s collarbone, Koushi pulls pack. Their frantic pace falls away, and Daichi peers up at him, hazy and winded. Koushi grins. “Let’s try something?” he says, bright as the sun, and Daichi nods dumbly.

He pushes at one of Daichi’s legs, unhooking it from around his hip, and bending it up toward his chest. Koushi does the same with Daichi’s other leg, and though he finds the strain in his thighs strange for sex, it is nothing he can’t handle.

Koushi settles Daichi’s ankles over his shoulders and runs a hand up the back of his thigh. “Is this alright?” he asks with a light scratch.

“Yes,” Daichi replies. No sooner does the word leave his mouth, and Koushi thrusts himself forward, bearing down with his weight. The difference is staggering; Daichi sees stars.

He swears, loudly, and every following sound is just as loud. He thinks he sees a flash of teeth as Koushi grins again, but Daichi screws his eyes shut. He cannot reach Koushi at this angle, not satisfactorily, so he throws an arm over his face for good measure. He does not try to muffle himself.

The angle is _amazing_ , striking that spot inside him with precision and force, and his toes curl near Koushi’s ear. When he reaches down to stroke himself, seeking the completion tightening in his belly, Koushi pulls his hand away and instead laces their fingers against the sheets.

Koushi grasps him with his other hand, and Daichi cries out in sheer need. He rides down against Koushi as well as he is able, but Koushi’s weight against his legs is enough to maintain his force and keep Daichi bent in two.

Daichi means to warn him—or to plead desperately that Koushi do not tease him further and draw this out, as he both dreads and yearns for—but Koushi picks up his pace and appears to be seeking the same finish Daichi is. “ _Please_ , please,” Daichi hears himself beg, a senseless repetition dragging long into nonsense syllables and more noise.

“ _Izni, vyu kva ftot_. Come for me, Daichi,” Koushi says with a particularly tight stroke on his cock, and the tension within Daichi snaps as if commanded.

He comes, long and powerful, made more so by Koushi continuing his thrusting. Koushi fucks and strokes him through his climax, until Daichi is left a quivering mess in his wake.

Daichi reopens his eyes—he does not remember closing them, this time—when Koushi pulls out. His body still trembles with the dredges of his orgasm, so he hardly notices, but he raises his head to question his lover. Instead, Daichi’s mouth falls open with no words: Koushi kneels between his splayed legs and strokes himself, gaze lidded but heated, body on display, his own hand still covered in the proof of Daichi’s satisfaction.

Koushi lets out hardly a sound when he finishes, painting further stripes over Daichi’s stomach. He bends over him, panting, and he’s hardly done before Daichi leans up to steal a kiss.

Koushi chuckles, breathless, against his mouth. Daichi’s too busy grinning to be that successful a kisser, too, but neither mind.

“So what does _kvana_ mean?” Daichi asks. His voice is hoarse.

Koushi collapses on top of him, smearing the mess between them even more, making Daichi groan—both at the sudden weight and how filthy they are. “I’m glad that worked,” Koushi admits instead, somewhere into the pillows by Daichi’s head, “because I’m not sure your healer would let me live it down if it didn’t. Thank you for being surprisingly intrigued by Canus.”

“I’m _still_ intrigued,” Daichi wheezes.

“Perhaps in a bath while we clean up. …After a nap.”

“ _Koushi_ , this is disgusting.”

“You’ve long since known I was filthy, _kvana_ ,” Koushi replies with clear delight.

“ _Koushi_!”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Suguru is let loose upon the Setarian Council of Generals.


	25. the bloody tipping point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Daichi’s surprise, the Lord-General smirks, then huffs out a laugh. She leans back in her chair, completely at ease, despite the confused looks both her children send her. “It was a power play, wasn’t it, advisor?” she asks.
> 
> “Yes, it was,” Suguru replies with an incline of his head.

Regardless of the prior night, Morisuke makes him drink an awful concoction that tastes of too much salt and bitterness. Daichi gags and nearly coughs most of it back up. It burns his throat, as it is supposed to, but he’s not happy about it.

“You’ll have more this afternoon, and tomorrow morning,” Morisuke dryly tells him, checking over something in a book of his. “It will maintain a believable hoarseness for you. Not that I’m questioning your stamina, my lord.”

Daichi, unable to fight back, settles for glaring at the side of his head.

“At least you had a fun night,” Suguru says.

“A productive night, even,” Koutarou adds with a leer. “Sounded like it, at any rate.”

“Who knew what kind of hidden talents that General had,” Suguru agrees.

“I know,” Koutarou replies, “but it’s good that Daichi got to have a bit of that… Morisuke, what’s the term you keep teasin’ him with?”

“Stress relief,” replies the healer, still not looking up from his medical book.

“Yeah, that!”

“Stop,” Daichi croaks.

Koutarou falls over himself laughing at the pitiful state his voice is in. Suguru smiles like a particularly pleased mouser. “That will do quite nicely, Your Highness.” Then, glancing up at Morisuke, Suguru asks, “This will not lead to any permanent damage, correct? I doubt His Majesty would be very happy with our plotting if it leads to silencing his son.”

“Maybe he’d like it,” Koutarou mutters. “Well, for a little bit, maybe.”

Morisuke shuts his book with a prim _snap_. “This was a foolish, desperate venture all around, but I am _not_ some kind of novice at this. The Prince will suffer all the problems relating to a sore throat, and it will heal in the same way. Give him two days after he stops drinking that and he will be in perfect working order again.”

Daichi reaches for one of the glasses of plain water on Morisuke’s desk, but the healer slaps his hand away. Daichi resumes his glaring.

“You aren’t to drink anything until right before you take the next dose of this,” he informs him. “Your throat is supposed to remain dry. Please bear with any discomfort you requested, my lord.”

Suguru takes the water from both of them and takes a long, delicate sip. Morisuke knocks the bottom of it so it slops over the top and spills onto Suguru’s chin and shirt.

“Shouldn’t you three be getting ready for your meeting with the Generals? It looks like you’ll need to get dressed properly, advisor,” Morisuke says.

Suguru sets down the glass again with a sour look. “Well, you’re right in that. Lord Witch, we’ll need your help. It’s time to settle this treaty.”

 

—

 

Daichi takes his usual seat in front of the Council. He tries not to sit delicately, but he can see both Tooru and Koushi making expressions they shouldn’t at a state event. Daichi does his best to ignore them.

“His Highness has unfortunately taken ill again,” Suguru announces when it becomes clear Daichi is not making the customary greetings. The Lord-General, at the head of the Council table, arches an eyebrow. The scarred one. It makes her seem even more intimidating. “No one else in our envoy has taken ill in the same manner, so we judged it to be kept to him, which is why we have not asked for any further time. It is my lord’s intention to complete these treaty negotiations as swiftly and as satisfactorily as possible, so for today, as his primary advisor on this trip, he has allowed me to stand in for him and speak in his place.”

Suguru’s greeting is met with stony silence. Koushi doesn’t appear worried, however, so Daichi does not allow himself any concern.

Finally, the Lord-General speaks. “Advisor Daishou, and Your Highness, how unfortunate it is that such a mysterious ailment has befallen your envoy. Again.”

“My lord is not used to a northern clime,” Suguru blandly replies.

Her eyes narrow. Daichi meets her gaze fearlessly. “…And if you are expected to speak on his behalf, then I also expect you would allow yourself the same hospitality and trust that His Highness is wearing.”

Suguru indulgently rolls up his sleeves, revealing the unblemished metal of the truth-telling cuffs. Several sets of eyes go to Daichi, and he does the same, displaying his own set. “We had brought our own, so we have already done you this service, Lord-General. I speak with honesty and my lord’s blessing,” Suguru tells her with a smile.

The Lord-General’s gaze is as cold as ice, but she does not argue this. However, for as still as she is, it only highlights the movement behind her more: Hajime, the witch, leans over and whispers something in Mei’s ear.

“Only the witch who first cast the truth-telling charm can break it again,” Mei says, in a voice just as commanding as her mother, though considerably less composed, “and that witch would be notified if the charm _were_ to break. But another witch can take and mold the charm without impacting the magic. Is this true, Lord Witch?”

Koutarou startles at being addressed directly. Nervously, he glances around briefly before responding. “Uh, yeah, that’s true.”

“You brought truth-telling cuffs from Amicora.”

“Yes,” Suguru replies without a hint of nerves.

“Are those the ones you’re wearing right now?” Mei asks.

Suguru falls silent. He cannot lie, but he does not answer, anyway. Daichi knows this had been a shot in the dark, but it still stings to get caught out so quickly. It stings more because Suguru had talked him _into_ this ploy.

“You _switched_?” Tanji demands with a scowl. He then glares at Koushi, down the table, who promptly finds the buttons of his uniform quite interesting. “Oi, snowman, did you know anything about this trickery?”

“I’m not privy to half as much as you think I am,” Koushi mutters, avoiding eye contact.

“So your plan was to switch the cuffs, and have your own witch negate yours so you could speak freely?” Saeko demands with an angry, ugly twist to her mouth. “What kind of trust is _that_ supposed to be?”

“That was not our plan,” Suguru calmly replies. “Our plan was not to negate the magic on either cuff.”

“Then _why_ bother? You knew there would be witches present,” Tooru asks.

“One,” Suguru corrects. He scans over the table, again: the nine Setarian Generals and a handful of attendants and advisors. “The other Setarian witch is not present. I know we are the only ones wearing these, but I would appreciate honesty for all parties, General.”

Daichi, for all his worrying about how today may play out, cannot help but find Suguru’s utter composure _fascinating_. Suguru may have been looking forward to verbally sparring with them, but Daichi begins to wonder if he himself had not been a little curious, too.

“What did you stand to gain by switching the cuffs, if not to tamper with the magic?” Kiyoko calmly asks, after placing a hand on Saeko’s arm to pacify her.

To Daichi’s surprise, the Lord-General smirks, then huffs out a _laugh_. She leans back in her chair, completely at ease, despite the confused looks both her children send her. “It was a power play, wasn’t it, advisor?” she asks.

“Yes, it was,” Suguru replies with an incline of his head.

“You wanted to prove you _could_ skirt the rules, and then you play by them anyway as a show of goodwill?”

“Yes.”

“Why, Your Highness, how clever you’ve suddenly become,” the Lord-General says. Daichi nods back at her, and hopes his clenched jaw isn’t visible. “But this is just wasting time. Surely you have goals in mind aside from making my Generals suspicious of you—surely that is some abstract part of your plan for today as well, Advisor Daishou—so let us commence today’s talks officially.”

“As you wish,” Suguru replies.

“We are here today to discuss the subject of the betrothal between General Sugawara and His Highness Crown Prince Daichi,” the Lord-General says as if no one present knows this.

“Very well,” Suguru says.

Koutarou places a hand on Daichi’s shoulder, and Daichi finds he suddenly cannot move, frozen to his chair.

“With stipulations,” Suguru says, pausing just long enough to allow the weight of his words to stand, “we accept the proposal.”

Frozen as he is, Daichi cannot react, though his mind is reeling. _He already accepted? As simple as that?!_ The Generals’ collective surprise does not make his own shock any more bearable.

“What sort of stipulations?” Reon forces out, since the Lord-General still hasn’t recovered, or else is further building her own words. “We have already outlined the betrothal in the treaty…”

Suguru smiles, pleasantly yet like ice, and holds up a finger. “First and foremost, _must_ the ceremony itself be held in Vierage?”

“Yes,” the Lord-General says at once.

“In that case, then Amicora insists that it be held in the Grand Cathedral, and we will bring a priest of our own faith with our entourage when His Majesty comes. I’m afraid that stipulation is not negotiable, Lord-General. This is a royal wedding, after all, and it had been outlined in the most recent treaty draft that General Sugawara would assume the role of Duke alongside Prince Daichi. We must abide by the royal family’s wishes.”

It seems that this is the point when the rest of the Council realizes what a threat Suguru is to them.

Koutarou releases Daichi’s shoulder, and he lets out a rattling breath. Loud enough to be heard, but weak enough to only back up his plea of illness, mercifully. Daichi sends Koutarou a sidelong glance. _We will discuss these plans later. Were you in on it?_

The innocent look Koutarou fakes is answer enough. How else would he have known to stop Daichi from outwardly reacting to Suguru’s blasé declarations?

“This is amenable,” Reon replies. He seems to be one of the neutral parties; Mei looks openly uneasy, and Saeko seems to be more invested in the Lord-General’s reactions than anything coming from Suguru’s mouth.

Suguru holds up another finger. “As this will mark the beginning of official peace movements between our countries, we understand that some urgency is necessary. But we will draw up a list of important persons to be invited, and there must be time enough for them to make the necessary preparations and travels.”

“Of course,” Nobuyuki says and attempts a smile. “We would make the same stipulation should Amicora have ever vocalized a desire for anything else. Even with all haste, decorum must be maintained.”

“Of course,” Suguru repeats in turn. “We also ask that General Sugawara and any and all of his attendants be allowed to move into the guest quarters officially as to be nearer his betrothed. In case it were not obvious, they’re very attached to each other,” he adds in a flat drawl.

Daichi and Koushi staunchly avoid looking in each other’s direction. “Of course,” Nobuyuki agrees with more comfort this time. General Washijou huffs in distaste, but does not argue.

“Excuse me for a moment, advisor,” Tooru says with a smile both disarming and seemingly genuine, “but this all seems very sudden. Surely this list of stipulations could have been sent along with any of the treaty drafts earlier this year?”

“The royal family had long been in talks with distinguished persons of faith about the logistics of the next royal marriage. There have been necessary allowances made in order to allow the sole heir His Highness to wed another man,” Suguru replies.

Daichi tries to recall the last time he had spoken at length with any member of the church, but then he realizes Suguru must be referring to his father. _Or he’s not referring to actual members of the church_ , he thinks, both impressed and annoyed at how easily Suguru manages to talk even while under magic.

“The next stipulation to our acceptance,” Suguru begins with another finger and a wan smile, “is that the cultural heritages and customs of both His Highness Prince Daichi and General Sugawara be respected.”

Daichi thinks _of course_ , but then he realizes, a moment after the Lord-General’s eyes narrow, what that actually means.

Koushi is not Setarian by birth.

The Lord-General leans forward on her elbows and grins like a wolf stalking prey. “Elaborate on that, if you’d please. It seems like the kind of vague wording that leaves too much to the imagination.”

“Of course, Lord-General,” Suguru replies with a little bow. “I would not assume any lack of intelligence on your part, and I will assume that you recognize that our Prince is Amicoran and as such must behave as befitting his station and heritage.”

The Lord-General’s eye twitches. “Then, pray tell, what are you trying to insinuate about my General?”

Koushi sinks a little lower in his chair. Tanji glowers at him, as if this is his fault, and Tooru glances uneasily between Koushi and his mother like he’s expecting to get caught in the middle of some bloody argument.

“I was under the impression that General Sugawara was not born or raised in Setaria,” Suguru simply replies.

“General Sugawara has enlisted in the Setarian military and proudly serves his country.”

“Of course, Lord-General.” Suguru folds his hands in front of himself, feigning either nerves or innocence, but Daichi can detect no true anxiety from him. (Koutarou seems to be struggling not to laugh, ineffectually using Daichi as a shield.) “But this is the wedding ceremony we’re discussing. Amicora and Canuste are countries of faith. Not to say anything against Setaria—I, personally, have long admired your own beautiful churches and hymns. But I was likewise under the impression that Setaria—its military included—was also a secular state, Lord-General.”

The Lord-General stares, hard, at Suguru. Koutarou muffles snickering into his own shoulder; his only saving grace is that two of the Generals are also trying to smother undignified noises.

“Am I incorrect, Lord-General?” Suguru asks, as if an uncertain man trying to coax an answer out of a particularly skittish child.

“Do you have any further stipulations?” Mei demands.

“In the same vein as these peace talks, we would appreciate it if witches were allowed to attend in places of honor. His Highness as a deep personal friendship with our Royal Witch,” Suguru says with a nod toward Daichi.

Koutarou beams and claps Daichi on the shoulder. Daichi has little choice but to nod along.

“We accept these stipulations,” the Lord-General says at length. As if forcing herself, she leans back in her chair again, and clasps her hands in her lap. “So we will formalize the union between our countries with the official betrothal of the Crown Prince and General Sugawara. Are there any further complaints by any other parties?”

Despite the way General Washijou glares at Koushi, no one speaks up. Daichi swallows, and winces at his sore throat.

“Then we are agreed. We will adjourn—”

“We will adjourn for tea, then come back for the talks about the blood reparations, yes?” Suguru asks with all the eagerness of a dog seeking praise.

“We have to formalize the betrothal clause in the treaty,” Kiyoko points out.

“And His Highness must think about his health,” the Lord-General adds with a thin smile. “We wouldn’t want to impose on any time he should be resting.”

Daichi shakes his head, and gestures at Suguru. _Continue_. He sees now that this had been Suguru’s true goal all along: he’s always wanted to sink his teeth into the blood reparations, and it is with a gruesome sort of fascination that Daichi wants to _let_ him. He knows this is a poor idea, but he is drunk on the image of the Lord-General so cowed.

He thinks Suguru could really do it, or at least gain them enough of an edge that Daichi can hold his own in coming days.

So he allows this.

 

—

 

“That was _terrifying_ ,” is the first thing out of Koushi’s mouth as soon as he joins them.

“Are you allowed to associate with us?” Suguru coolly asks.

“I kinda thought you’d get punished,” Koutarou admits.

Koushi seats himself without waiting beside Daichi, and leans against his shoulder with a contented sigh. “Oh, I’ve no doubt punishment is coming, but not if there are still appearances to consider later this afternoon. You handled yourself well, but that was still terrifying to see that woman cornered. I thought she’d draw her sword at one point.”

“Whatever is on her mind, the Lord-General still wishes for this peace treaty’s success,” Suguru says and sips at his tea. “Daichi, you can drink now. I’m sure Morisuke will be along shortly to force more of that concoction down your throat, but for now, you could _try_ to join us for conversation.”

Daichi glowers at Suguru, and Koutarou kicks him beneath the tiny table on his behalf. “Thanks,” he rasps, and Koutarou beams.

“You still had to drink whatever the healer was threatening you with?” Koushi asks in sympathy. “Oh, poor thing. I _thought_ you were shockingly good at holding your tongue.”

“If he were still capable of speaking and had to answer somehow, then we’d get caught in a lie,” Suguru points out.

“So you’re wearing ours?” Koushi asks, peering at the bright silver on his wrists. Suguru nods. “Oh, then why not let Daichi be free for an afternoon?”

“His pride won’t let him,” Koutarou answers with undue smugness. “You’re gonna make me start to think you _like_ my magic on ya, Daichi,” he teases, prodding at Daichi’s cheek.

Daichi sulks, mutely, and allows Koutarou his misbehavior.

“I think he enjoyed your magic on him last night,” Koushi agrees and carefully pulls Daichi away from Koutarou and into his arms. His smile at Koutarou, however, is only friendly.

But Koutarou’s eyes narrow. “I know you’re jumpin’ ship, and you’re useful enough for the time bein’, but don’t get cocky now, alright? Don’t forget what you are.”

Koushi stills against him. Daichi wishes he weren’t between them, but at least Koushi does not further the argument. Suguru continues sipping calmly at his tea.

But even Suguru freezes after glancing up. Daichi hears someone come up behind him, and Koushi’s arm around him becomes a little firmer. Daichi tilts his head back, and finds the angry, scowling visage of Hajime.

Daichi swiftly twists in his seat to better address the witch, and Koushi releases him with his own baleful look. Koutarou seems set on ignoring Hajime to the best of his abilities; Hajime echoes this. He nods down at Suguru. “You knew I was a witch before Tooru said anything, and today, you picked me out again. How?”

“Of course I would remember your impressive figure,” Suguru replies with a forced calm.

“ _How_ can you tell?” Hajime demands and tightly crosses his arms across his broad chest.

“He knows the trick,” Koutarou grumbles.

Hajime doesn’t address Koutarou, but his expression darkens further. “Great. If I catch wind of you spreading unnecessary information anywhere—”

“Lord Witch, I grew up just east of the Witch Forest,” Suguru gently interrupts. “I understand.”

“…Ah,” Hajime says as if realizing something.

Koushi watches the exchange with greedy, bright eyes, and when Hajime catches sight of him again, he snaps back into a reflexive scowl.

“Don’t get any smart ideas,” Hajime says and ruffles Koushi’s hair, a little too forcefully. “Tooru might like you, but Nanashi and Mei certainly don’t.”

“I’m not the only one who needs to stop spreading information to unnecessary parties,” Koushi shoots back.

Hajime swings at him again, but Koushi ducks, and drags Daichi back out of the way with him. Koutarou lets out a snarl.

Hajime steps back, both hands raised to show no harm. “I apologize, Your Highness. My relationship with General Sugawara is reflective of how he and Tooru treat each other, so it has become a terrible habit. I apologize if I’ve crossed any boundaries.” He doesn’t sound particularly apologetic, but it is still the most apology Daichi has _ever_ heard from a witch.

Koushi chuckles and taps Daichi’s chin until he closes his open mouth again. “What did you come here for, Iwaizumi?”

“Tooru would like to invite Daichi to a private dinner when he is well again,” Hajime says as if it pains him.

“So he wants to get drunk with the Prince?”

“Absolutely. I have the feeling your little show today has upset quite a lot of precarious balances, and Tooru may wish to either congratulate or poison you.” Hajime pauses, then flatly adds, “That was a joke. My poor humor is also reflective of Tooru. I apologize again, Your Highness, and beg you to consider any and all of my flaws a direct fault of Tooru or Nanashi.”

“I am not certain how good of company His Highness will be while he is unable to speak,” Suguru says mildly.

“Tooru’s schedule is flexible enough during the summit. At your convenience, Your Highness.”

Daichi nods. He is not certain if Tooru will prove himself to be friend or foe, but it would be best to see where this leads. He cannot afford to burn many bridges.  

 

—

 

The peace talks resume with the curious shuffling of placement on the Council’s table. As Daichi makes a mental tally, he cannot help but question if these may be lines being drawn. The Lord-General is still fairly centered, but she and Tanji are further than before, and General Tanaka further still. Hajime is absent now, but Daichi doubts he has gone far.

Daichi searches Tooru’s face—he is now seated by Koushi, and Daichi cannot help but feel that is purposeful as well—but Tooru does not show any acknowledgement of his invitation. He supposes he’ll have answers for it later, as frustrating as that may be.

Suguru clears his throat and once again takes his standing position in front of Daichi’s chair.

“We now continue our discussions of the final treaty draft for peace between our countries,” the Lord-General drawls, tapping the papers spread on the table between them. “And I assume we will make all of our adjustments to it after the rest of these talks are concluded?”

“It would save your scribes time,” Suguru allows with a pleasant grin. Daichi would almost trust that grin.

Yet again, both of their sleeves are folded back, though Daichi rests his temple against his fist, elbow on the arm of the chair. He has been advised to appear as unfazed as possible—weary of this, if possible—and he will do his best to appear both exhausted from illness yet diligently doing his part for the sake of peace.

“We have put forth several drafts of the clause of the blood reparations, and Amicora has had no satisfactory answer outside of their blanket refusal,” General Shimizu says. “There have been no concrete attempts at negotiation. Would you answer for this, or would you simply like to begin negotiations now?”

Daichi grinds his teeth and thinks, surly, that he _had_ tried to negotiate with them. _They_ had been the ones to close their ears and allow no compromise.

Perhaps it’s a blessing that he cannot run his mouth right now.

“Let’s not mince words further. We have many preparations to do for the upcoming royal wedding, and so time is of the essence,” Suguru replies.

The Lord-General makes a _continue_ gesture.

Koutarou again grasps Daichi’s shoulder, just out of sight, and Daichi feels himself freeze in place.

He realizes then, that in their hectic preparations for Daichi’s upcoming speaking and their focus on jointly figuring out some approach to both the betrothal and reparations, he had failed to ask Suguru much about his father’s plans.

Suguru accepted the proposal so quickly as to knock the Council off balance, and to speed himself along to discussing the blood reparations, presumably to verbally spar with the Lord-General.

But Daichi finds no amount of belated paranoia can prepare himself for what Suguru next says.

“With stipulations,” he says again, still smiling, “we accept the blood reparations.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Life appears bent on making Daichi play the part of the fool.


	26. an affinity for bloodshed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surely he has earned this small fortune from life’s constant trickery against him.
> 
> Life, evidently, prefers to spit in his face.

“Stipulations?” General Oikawa (the eldest) asks, face open in her shock.

“No, wait, repeat that again—you _accept_?” General Tanaka demands, somehow even more obvious about hers.

“What kind of stipulations could you possibly have?” the Lord-General icily asks with only the thinnest veneer of manners.

Suguru again puts up a finger. Daichi, behind him, couldn’t breathe even if Koutarou’s magic allowed his reaction. This must be a nightmare. This must be a hallucination. _This could not be real_.

“First and foremost, it will take _time_ for the war to fully close,” Suguru explains, “between preparing for a wedding, the withdrawal of our armies, for basic repairs to be made to allow for mass movement—and the financial reparations for the damages done to certain areas.”

“Yes, of course. We’ve made no limit to troop withdrawals or final payments,” Mei says. “We’ve agreed that it would be best left to each nation’s polite consideration.”

“Of course,” Suguru repeats with yet another disgusting smile. His finger remains up. “So we would ask that the blood reparations to be the final matter taken care of, so as to ensure the smoothest possible end in this transitional period for both of our countries.”

The Lord-General inclines her head. It is not a nod, but it is close enough to force Suguru to continue.

Daichi still struggles to reconcile all of these words with what he had meant for the peace talks. Koutarou’s hand remains firm on his shoulder.

“And since it would be most prudent for all ruling parties, even those who may or may not be involved directly in the matter of the blood reparations, to sign the peace treaty between Amicora and Setaria, then we ask that the formal signing happen at this time as well.” Suguru is now up to two fingers, and his smile is unrattled. He adds, a touch apologetic now, “To ensure goodwill, you understand.”

“Why would we put off the treaty for so long?” Saeko waspishly demands, teeth bared in no true smile. There are general murmurs of agreement, if more uncertain than she shows. “That’s the entire _goal_ of these ridiculous talks.”

“To ensure goodwill,” Suguru repeats.

“No,” the Lord-General replies.

Suguru waits for her elaboration, but none is forthcoming. No one else on the Council speaks; eyes are torn between her and Daichi. He feels he may have already expired and this is the beginning of a personal torment.

Koutarou’s grip shifts, and Daichi finds he can breathe again, though his body remains too heavy to allow much expression. He wishes he could snap at Koutarou, as misaimed as his anger is. He wishes he could snap at them all. _You’re discussing the murder of half your peers and my father_ , Daichi wishes to shout in their faces. _You are taking away my family and our senior staff. You are gambling with your own. I can’t understand your callousness_.

“Pardon?” Suguru finally asks.

“I said no, and nothing else,” the Lord-General answers. “You frame these stipulations of yours as if you are making demands in a negotiation in which you hold the upper hand. You do not. You are not. I reject this stipulation of yours outright.”

“I beg your pardon,” Suguru says, and for the first time, he falters.

Daichi realizes that the Lord-General _had_ been sincerely off her guard and surprised at Suguru’s clever tongue that morning. But she has already recalibrated her approach, and Suguru has lost his advantage over her. He’s moving against Daichi to do so, and he fears where this could lead.

“You wish to wait to do the blood reparations, and you wish to move back the treaty signing. You are attempting to extend the timeline of the war, and enforce the phrasing used in the treaty—anyone who has served for half the war’s duration,” the Lord-General serenely explains. “You are trying to ensure that this applies to more of the Council. Your motivations are transparent, and I, personally, find them coldhearted.”

Suguru says nothing, his face a mask, but his eyes betray his fury. He cannot lie.

The Lord-General leans forward in her seat. Her eyes glint like cold steel. “You are trying to ensure my daughter and eldest is caught by this bloody net. I will not stand for this kind of pointed, cruel-hearted attack. Now, answer me plainly, advisor: in this instance, you are not speaking for His Highness, are you?”

Suguru still says nothing. His pallor has become sickly, gleaming with sweat and far too pale. Still, his expression remains rigid and composed, if only through sheer force of will.

“I personally know _exactly_ what sort of man it takes to try to force such ruthless machinations in what ought to be negotiations for lasting peace, and I do not believe His Highness to be that sort of man. I do believe, however, that His Majesty is exactly that sort of man.”

Koutarou shifts nervously. Suguru remains as stone.

“Tell me plainly, Advisor Daishou—you said you were speaking for your lord, but whose words are you offering in this instance?”

Suguru does not try to lie. “His Majesty, who wears the crown and rules over Amicora.”

“His Majesty was not invited to these peace talks. I will speak with His Highness, or I will not speak of the treaty any further. Today is adjourned, and we will commence again only upon His Highness’ returned health.”

Koutarou cuts their contact, and Daichi can finally move again. He is the first out of the room.

 

—

 

He cannot even _yell_.

Daichi has never felt more ineffectual in his life; he cannot shout, he cannot loose his temper, he cannot even rail against the _man who betrayed him_.

Who betrayed him and didn’t even _succeed_. Some awful part of Daichi wishes Suguru had at least _won_ against the Lord-General.

Who knew what his father was planning—Daichi has more of an idea now, to raise the stakes until the Lord-General was forced to act in defense of her Generals, to call a bluff Daichi is still not certain _is_ a bluff—but Daichi hates all of them. He cannot stand the sight of Suguru, following at his heel like a trained dog.

He can stand the sight of Koutarou even less.

He had prevented Daichi from outwardly reacting, as to not blow Suguru’s cover or upset the meeting any more than it had been, which meant Koutarou had _known_.

Truthfully, while Suguru’s betrayal is the more disastrous one, Koutarou’s hurts more.

Koutarou and Suguru had planted the seed of Daichi’s muteness. Morisuke—was he complicit in this as well? Daichi has never known who to trust less than this moment, and fear only adds fuel to the fire of his anger.

He hears Koushi calling after him, probably running after him, but Daichi shakes his head and Koutarou disappears from his shoulder to head him off. He would probably enjoy it.

Suguru, at least, does not try to defend himself.

By the time they enter into their borrowed wing, it seems as if the guard had been alerted, for they greet them with unusual gravity. There are not many official silent commands Daichi can issue, much less to strangers, but at least he can make it clear he wishes to be alone. With another gesture to the Knight Marshal, he has Suguru escorted to his quarters.

Daichi means to have a moment of peace to himself, to try to gather his scattered, panicked, irate thoughts, but Koutarou pops in the moment the door is closed behind him.

Daichi glares at him. This time, there is no convenient alternate target for his anger: he is mad, and mad at a witch, and there is no one to separate them.

“Are ya gonna execute him?” Koutarou asks with a cock of his head.

Daichi hasn’t thought that far ahead. He doesn’t often wish for violence, but this entire trip has been a test of patience and morality both, and he is not certain yet. Executing Suguru would only prove the Lord-General right, but it would also send a message to his father. It would finally be Daichi standing up for himself, but he would also declare himself a power unto himself at the same time. He has yet to move against his father so blatantly.

But Suguru’s betrayal had nearly undone all of Daichi’s hard work. He very nearly lost, to _both_ the King and the Lord-General. He does not know if she will now press for the fact that Amicora had technically agreed—with stipulations—so Daichi’s hands may be tied even so.

He has been backed into a corner.

“Get out,” Daichi hoarsely orders.

With a hurt noise, Koutarou vanishes.

 

—

 

Daichi must be able to speak for himself again before anything else.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but you can only wait it out,” Morisuke replies with arms folded. He appears especially shrewd now, and Daichi has no idea how the flow of information is heading through his entourage. “Drink plenty of water, and don’t raise your voice unduly, and you should be well enough again by tomorrow morning.”

“Need it faster,” Daichi forces out with a dry cough.

“What’s so urgent?” Morisuke calmly asks.

Daichi does not believe the man to be that good of a liar, but at this time, trust is the rarest commodity. Daichi shakes his head and says nothing more.

“Does it have anything to do with the fact that General Sugawara has repeatedly tried to reach you?”

Daichi, again, shakes his head. He will have to deal with Koushi later. He knows, yet again, that the General is in a precarious position, but he has survived this long with whatever tricks are up his sleeves. Daichi cannot afford to offer shelter while he is unsure of his own allies.

Morisuke gives Daichi the largest flask he has and douses the water with mint, and Daichi leaves. He is in the mood to be alone, now, but he is in no mood to sneak around. He takes a personal journal, several more sheets of loose papers, and the most recent treaty draft he has. He bids the Marshal to stay at his post confining Suguru to his quarters, and instead allows the younger of the knights to follow him.

Daichi does not know this man, so there had been little trust to lose. It’s not as if he worries for his life; there is no reason that any of the guards assigned to his envoy would suddenly shirk their duties, or outright betray him as well. Like the Lord-General, Daichi sees his father’s touch in Suguru’s words and actions. The King would do little else to sabotage Daichi with such a ploy already hidden under his nose.

 _I was a fool_ , Daichi scolds himself. He leaves his wing, aiming for where he faintly remembers the main library to be. It is sheer chance that he misses Koushi, as brazenly as he marches through the Setarian halls.

In fact, he sees no Generals. Perhaps they are sequestered away in talks of their own. Perhaps more scheming is being done.

 _I was a fool, but what other option did I have but to trust him?_ Trusting Suguru to speak on his behalf had been a far reach, but for everything else… Daichi sees little he could have truly done differently. He had naively thought himself to have an edge over Suguru’s motivations when he remembered his devotion to the woman he could not have. _I am not cut out for this trickery_.

Spending so much time near and in the Royal Academy has spoiled Daichi as far as libraries go, but he must admit, this one is not bad. Setaria’s usual lack of decor suits it, as every available surface has been worked into a shelf or a stand for more books, and with tables laid out in neat rows between all of it, he finds he likes the order it offers.

Everyone inside openly stares at the foreign Prince boldly walking in.

He does not know if these are students, or aides, or perhaps what passes for nobility here; he sees a handful of people in military dress, but more still in various fashions, and another kind of uniform he does not recognize. There may be a dozen inside altogether. No one moves, unabashedly shocked at his presence as they are.

Daichi selects an empty table in the farthest corner and gestures his accompanying knight to stand so that it’s clear he does not desire company.

He gets no further than spreading out the treaty draft on the table than he _gets_ company.

Daichi raises his head when he senses someone approaching; he is annoyed rather than curious as to why his guard does not immediately chase them off, since he is in _no_ mood for pleasantries or strangers. But it becomes instantly apparent why his guard has paused.

The young man standing before them has silverite hair, finer and lighter than even Koushi’s, and stands taller than Daichi has ever seen in his life. He is dressed in the odd uniform Daichi does not recognize, the deep blue of Setaria, but trimmed with white and black and silver.

“You’re the Prince, right?” the stranger asks with the high voice of one even younger than Daichi had assumed.

“Who are you to address His Highness?” his guard says and puts an arm up to separate them.

“Ah, I have a letter for him!” the stranger declares.

Daichi blinks up at him. His guard drops his arm, faltering in his surprise, and breaks propriety in order to twist around to shoot Daichi a _bewildered_ look. (Daichi is likewise reminded that this particular knight of his hardly looks to be any older than the young man before them.) “Uh… sir?”

Daichi shakes his head. He has no idea who he is, and he doesn’t particularly _want_ more confusing northerners in his life right now. Not to mention the suspicious timing of it.

“I only got this yesterday, you see, but I’m not allowed near any foreign guests, especially not royalty, and I’m not very good at sneaking past witches,” the young man explains. “Ah, wait! You’re a Prince!” He hastens into a sloppy bow, bent awkwardly at the waist. He raises his head without waiting for permission. “It’s an honor to meet you! My sister has told me a lot about you, Your Highness. Good things, I promise!”

“Sister?” Daichi croaks.

“You sound terrible!” the young man exclaims without shame.

“That’s the Crown Prince of Amicora you’re speaking to,” the guard reminds him, and pushes him back a step. “Stop rambling, and state your business more clearly.”

“I have a letter,” he repeats, bemused. “Um, not here, not with me right now, but my sister sent it to me from Amicora. Her name is Alisa. Oh, wait—she is my older sister! I’m the youngest child of Lady Haiba, my name is Lev! I’ve been honored with the task of serving in the knighthood of Setaria!” He snaps to rigid attention with an awkward salute foreign to Daichi. He is not sure if it’s meant to be Setarian or not. “It is an honor to be in your presence, sir!”

“You weren’t invited to be in his presence,” his guard deadpans.

“But I haven’t seen anyone of proper nobility in _so long_!” Lev whines, shoulders slumping, head drooping. “Setaria is all backwards, they don’t have any royalty or nobles or _class_! No one cares here if I’m the son of a Lady. They just snap at me to speak better and fight better and aim better.”

“Speak better now, then. If you have business proper, then approach us at another time. His Highness is _busy_ right now.”

Lev, with the inherent self-importance truly only known to nobility (especially _young_ nobility), _somehow_ takes this as invitation to begin a long and rambling speech about his enlistment and service and what constitutes proper behavior.

Daichi wishes him gone. Desperately.

But he also thinks. _Do I trust Alisa?_

She has proven to be a valuable, intelligent ally, albeit one held at arm’s length. Daichi has not known her for long, and he knows she had indulged Koushi, even breaking the rules to do so.

 _I used her homesickness against her_ , Koushi had told him, and Daichi suddenly realizes _how_ , seeing her younger brother before him.

There is no harm in a letter. Daichi has yet to receive any word from anyone other than the King, aside from Kenma’s hastily sent letter, and Daichi would appreciate friendly words. Perhaps she would have proper news. As Daichi thinks it, he realizes how _odd_ it would be for her to send a letter to her brother for a visiting Prince.

Even Daichi’s movements with Alisa had required her to seek permission from her family; his father had not dared allow or deny anything with her. It could, perhaps, be the same now. The King could not interfere with the well-connected daughter of foreign nobility.

Daichi nods, but his guard’s back is to him. He hoarsely requests, “The letter, if you’d please.”

Lev lights up, genuinely delighted at being allowed to carry out his task. “I’ll go fetch it right away, sir! It came with one of her letters for me, sealed, I swear I didn’t touch it at all!”

Daichi gestures, but still his guard’s attention is on Lev, so he grabs the man’s elbow and gestures for him to follow Lev. This is suspicious and strange enough as it is, but the last thing he needs is for Lev to get caught somewhere with something potentially important meant for Daichi.

When they are gone, and when no _other_ convenient or questionable young would-be knights accost him, Daichi rasps out a sigh and hangs his head in his hands. The treaty remains spread out before him.

The betrothal and blood reparation clauses are not particularly long, the betrothal the longer between them. There will not be many actual adjustments to make before the final document is complete. Daichi runs a finger down the few paragraphs that will be changed to dictate his future marriage. He does not yet know how he will face the Lord-General about the reparations, but there is no backing down from the betrothal now.

It is official. He and Koushi are to be wed.

Daichi lets out another rough breath.

It is both a relief and another weight onto his shoulders. A relief to be over, to be decided one way or another, to know there cannot be any other hurdles to overcome with Koushi. Perhaps the man will be swayed further to Daichi’s side, seeking further shelter from the Lord-General’s machinations, or perhaps sincerely aiming for the status promotion. Perhaps he could share _some_ small bit of information.

But there is the matter of a lack of blood heir, and his father facing execution. Daichi could ascend too quickly to a throne he never wanted like _this_ ; he could be lacking any support from any advisors or seniors he’s long admired and trusted. He still must ascertain _who_ could be spared, if the Lord-General is pushed. Daichi hates to think of it, but if this is something he must face, perhaps he ought to change tack and consider who he could still save.

 _I will not let her murder Father_ , Daichi silently vows.

But he wonders, darkly, at the cost of such a thing.

 

—

 

The entire library saw Daichi meet with Lev—hell, they probably _heard_ the entire exchange, as far as Lev’s voice carries—and who knows who saw Daichi’s personal guard escort him. Daichi can only hope that the business of earlier in the day is enough to distract wandering eyes. Surely, _surely_ he is lucky enough that there are bigger matters to attend to. Surely he has earned this small fortune from life’s constant trickery against him.

Life, evidently, prefers to spit in his face.

He and his guard escort Lev toward his quarters. Daichi means to inquire about the _exact_ relationship Koushi has with the two Haiba children, and whether he think it wise to use alternative means to send letters. Then again, the silence from Amicora has already begun weighing on him more and more; this is the first _hint_ he has received from anyone other than his father, and it is only in hindsight that he finds this alarming. Even behaving, Daichi should have heard _something_ from them, any of them.

His father has been making his own maneuvers, and Daichi has no idea what they could be.

He does, however, have the sinking feeling that Suguru knows. Perhaps even Koutarou.

All these thoughts and impossibly more prey on Daichi, distracting him to the point of oblivion. He does not hear the shouting until his knight pulls both he and Lev up short, not yet to the safety of their own wing, but not anywhere that Daichi thinks particularly loud, either.

It takes him a long moment to process the sight of a man with a pistol drawn in the middle of the hallway.

The knight before him bristles and draws his short sword. They are not allowed to carry pistols anywhere other than their own borrowed wing, and Daichi has been stern in enforcing the rules. He wonders if that, too, had been a fool’s notion.

But the strange man—indeed, he is no one Daichi recognizes; dressed in the Setarian military uniform with the rank of commandant on his shoulder, he is likely as tall as Koutarou, reddish-brown hair shaggy and tucked behind one ear to keep it from his eyes, and there is something _sharp_ about his face that Daichi finds oddly distinct—has no eyes for him. Daichi isn’t certain he has even noticed the Prince or his entourage.

The man instead glares, verging on murderous, at a pair just down the hallway from him.

These two, Daichi recognizes: the men introduced as General Tanaka’s younger brothers. He cannot recall their names now, but he knows one is also a commandant, making this situation even more tense.

They stand outside an open set of double doors, and Daichi cannot see or hear anyone inside. The stranger does not point his pistol at either of them, but he gestures with it, with the short movements of someone who knows their intended target. His voice carries; there are strange notes of an accent that Daichi feels he knows but likewise knows is nothing particularly familiar.

“You and I _both_ know that seat is rightfully mine,” the man declares with venom dripping from every clipped consonant. “It’s been mine since Kuroki died!”

“General Naoi’s seat will be filled by one of his own,” the other commandant replies with a cold voice and colder eyes. “That’s how it’s _always_ worked, Commandant Futakuchi.”

Futakuchi sneers and his pistol wavers closer to pointing at him directly. It appears that this argument is between those two. “I’m not talking about Naoi’s seat. Sugawara does not have any direct line of succession, and I will not stand for more of your sister’s meddling. It was _supposed_ to go to me the first time. That’s _my_ promotion!”

“General Sugawara isn’t gone yet, though,” Lev pipes up with all the lack of tact Daichi has, in their short time together, come to expect from him.

Three sets of eyes whip around to them. Daichi’s knight brandishes his sword high, and kindly puts himself between them and Lev as well. “You are in the way of His Highness Prince Daichi of Amicora,” his guard says in a growl Daichi has never before heard from him. “Kindly take your altercation elsewhere.”

Futakuchi’s eyes flick over to Lev, surely calculating what his presence with Daichi must mean. “I meant no disrespect,” he begins, syrupy sweet overtop steel, “but this is not a concern to outside powers, Your Highness. _Kindly_ take your royal pain in the ass elsewhere.”

“You can’t speak to him that way!” Daichi’s knight and Commandant Tanaka bark at the same time.

At the shout, Futakuchi’s pistol snaps squarely onto Commandant Tanaka’s chest.

“Put that _down_ ,” the younger Tanaka growls.

Futakuchi smiles, but he also looks like he may be ill. “I wanted a duel of honor, since your ilk will not leave the process be. Face me, Tanaka. Like how _proper_ men duel.”

The younger seethes, eyes narrowed to slits, shoulders rigid around his ears. The elder, the one with the gun aimed at him, appears calmer, but only by a hair. Daichi knows he cannot _order_ them to disengage—they’re not his men, not in any sense, and tempers would likely flare further should he try.

But he thinks he could defuse this via the premise of his own safety, and perhaps Lev’s; they are not Setarian nationals, and this is unbecoming, dangerous behavior, even if it is for honor. He is well within his rights to request them to move.

However, before Daichi could begin to try to convey this with much croaking, both of General Tanaka’s younger brothers ignite their hands with fire.

Magic in humans is rare, but not unheard of, but such strength of it is uncommon, and he has never seen fire magic outside of Koutarou’s boasting. He has never known two of the same family to use it. Futakuchi does not seem surprised, and Lev only makes an awed noise not unlike a squawk, but again, he is not floored, not like Daichi or his guard are.

It makes sense, now, why Futakuchi preferred the pistol to a short sword.

“Do you think yourselves faster than a bullet?” Futakuchi flatly asks.

“I think myself hot enough,” the younger replies with a jeer.

“Stand down, a-all of you!” Daichi’s guard cries. His sword does not shake in his grip, but his shoulders tremble. Daichi, too, feels like he is suddenly very small in the face of something impossible.

He hopes, desperately, that Koutarou is not called to this scene, not with things as they are between them.

“Men duel with steel, not magic,” Commandant Futakuchi points out.

“You’re always harpin’ on using every available advantage,” Commandant Tanaka retorts.

“I’m challenging _you_ , and no others. This is between men of proper rank. I will not be denied my rightful promotion again!”

“You are inciting violent acts in front of a guest of honor of the Council,” Daichi’s guard calls, and Daichi could kiss the man for how grateful he is. “All of you are to stand down, or risk the consequences!”

Futakuchi turns fully from them. “Only cowards and monsters attack someone’s back. You’re dismissed, sir.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Daichi balks at the base thought of being _dismissed_ by a commandant, much less a foreign one.

“What is going on here?”

Life, perhaps, smiles on them.

Daichi is reassured by the fact that there is an objector to this scene. And, perhaps, it is best that it is not any other parties.

But considering his fraught position within Daichi’s life, his relief at General Sugawara’s appearance is rather distanced.

When he twists to face them, Futakuchi’s arm drops, pistol pointed at the carpet now, face falling open in some mixture of raw grief and utter rage. “ _You_ have quite a lot of gall, interrupting this, when _you_ were the first to steal my seat! I refuse to allow you to be the one to mediate this.”

“I don’t believe that’s your decision to make, Commandant,” Koushi coolly replies. He hardly spares Daichi a second glance, but strides past them, standing protectively even in front of his guard. “Stop having duels in the hallways like children. You’re all dismissed.”

“I’m _ending_ this, before his sister begins any more of her goddamned scheming!” Futakuchi snarls, but he turns his back on General Tanaka’s brothers to face Koushi in his fury.

“You’re being awfully brave, how you’re going about it,” Koushi replies in an utterly neutral tone. He pointedly slides his gaze over toward Daichi and his makeshift attendants. “And these are far from the usual witnesses present at duels of honor here. You’ve lived in Setaria even longer than I have, Commandant. Shouldn’t you know this by now?”

Futakuchi, lip curled and entire body quaking with anger, raises his pistol again.

Daichi shoves at his guard with a wordless shout— _stop this, save him_ , he does not know.

He does not see the flash of movement behind Futakuchi; the younger of the Tanaka siblings leaps forward so quickly he is unseen, and Daichi and his knight fumble into action a beat after he slides a red-hot blade through Futakuchi’s chest from behind.

“Should’ve stopped calling me a monster, huh?” He is so short that they cannot see anything aside from the white-knuckled grip he has on Futakuchi’s shoulder. Right over his rank.

“Y-You…!” Futakuchi snarls. His lips bubble with blood as he tries to form words.

Koushi’s stance in front of them has dropped into something offensive, and he has drawn those infamous hidden knives, one in each hand. Daichi’s knight stands just behind him, his short sword raised in a ready stance as well.

“ _Do not_ attack him,” Koushi hisses, barely audible over Futakuchi’s halting, wet speech.

“Oh, stop worrying, Suga.”

Futakuchi drops, and the youngest Tanaka stands behind him. He wipes his blade—still glowing with heat—on his thigh. It sizzles against the black fabric, but he doesn’t appear to mind. He beams at them, bright as the day, laugh lines at odds with the way his eyes blaze with wild intensity.

“Not even a witch would be stupid enough to attack visiting royalty at a peace summit,” he tells them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: With more bad news from Alisa and home, Daichi fears he may finally break beneath the machinations of the King and the Lord-General.


	27. my blood alone remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, this person you’ve grown terribly fond of _is_ a General in a nation against you,” Koushi replies, “and that is not a fact you can separate. I can help you, Daichi. If you’ll permit it.”

_To His Highness Prince Daichi of Amicora_ , the letter begins, proper and befitting a friendly letter to a far-off royal.

Daichi struggles to concentrate. This letter must be _important_ , after all, for Alisa to have gone to such lengths.

But there are many other factors to consider. It is well into the night, and he has a dying commandant in his healer’s chambers, plus a foreign knight, his newly betrothed, and his own advisor and witch locked away from his sight. Daichi feels his already slight grasp on the situation slipping further.

But the letter, that is his alone, and it could be the edge he desperately needs in this mess.

 

_I apologize for the strange and suspicious manner in which this letter has surely been delivered to your hands. My brother is a sweet boy, but sweet boys tend to be naive, loud, and tactless. Forgive him for anything he might’ve said, for he has never meant harm in his life. If nothing else, I adore him so, and I hope that speaks well of his character, Your Highness._

_It was upon Lord Kozume’s request that I send you this letter, and he insisted that I add that part. I believe everyone here is very nervous about letters being intercepted, or perhaps forbidden altogether. As you can tell, I am using my status to circumvent this. Please, do not worry overmuch about my safety here, as there is nothing I would like more than to be beneficial to the cause of peace._

 

Daichi pauses at the cursive _Lord Kozume_. He doesn’t know who that is, and he does not trust mysterious benefactors right now.

 

_Everyone is well here. I know Asahi and Tetsurou - we have grown closer, in your absence, and I would count them fond friends of mine - are convinced you are concerned over everyone’s health. His Majesty has not acted unduly. There have been no punishments, and no altercations._

_But there has been a shuffling of power, and Lord Kozume thought it best that you ought to know as soon as we could safely let you know. The Captain of the Royal Guard has been forcibly retired from his post, and the new man appointed is a favored knight of His Majesty’s. The entire court is abuzz with murmurs and gossip, but it is no secret, and little true scandal._

_Of course, Lord Kozume’s promotion is cause for much more stir. I myself admit to being quite surprised when I found out. It was Asahi who informed me that this was the same man - I daresay he has changed, or perhaps this is the effect of strange magics upon my memory. I do not know. I hope to discuss this with you in the future, at your convenience, Your Highness._

_His Majesty discovered that there had been another witch with us all along - or, that is as far as we know. According to the court and Academy, Kenma has been discovered out of nowhere, as if conjured from smoke and ash. His title is now Royal Witch, exactly the same as Lord Bokuto’s. Officially, there is no difference between their station, though I suppose it matters little to Court Witches._

 

Daichi actually rips the paper, he’s holding it so tightly.

He swears, and he does not know in anger, or frustration, or utter despair.

His father could not do anything to Daichi, of course. He could not do anything to his people. Why would he want to? The simplest course of action was the obvious one, the one Daichi had been counting _against_.

Kenma, promoted to Lord Witch. Just like Koutarou.

Daichi curses again and tries to smooth out the paper enough for it to be legible. His candle burns low, but he hardly notices until it sparks back to life and large, uncannily smooth hands close over his.

Koutarou gently mends the paper beneath his fingertips. Daichi’s breath catches in his rough throat at the press of Koutarou’s chest against his back. Koutarou does not move his hands from Daichi’s.

“Did you know,” Daichi hoarsely asks.

“If it’s any consolation,” Koutarou replies, right in his ear, voice as dark as the night, “Kenma is the one who told me, not your father.”

It is little consolation. Daichi heaves out a rough, shuddering breath, and sets the mended letter down on the desk. There is still more to read, nearly half a page, and if there weren’t so many assurances of everyone’s health, Daichi would be even more worried than he is. As it stands now, however, despair crashes over him, winning the war of his boiling emotions.

Daichi presses a hand against his eyes. His own hands are far rougher than Koutarou’s now, but no matter how he presses them, he cannot stem the hot, shameful tears. His weak voice cracks on a sob, and soon, his shoulders are shaking and his breath burns his sore throat. He has not cried this hard in years. Now, it seems he cannot stop.

He has lost.

By promoting Kenma, especially under the guise of surprise, Daichi cannot count on his loyalty, much less his help. His father has removed him from play. Tetsurou may be safe, and thank the stars he is, but now they’re both useless to him.

Suguru has betrayed him and _failed_ at it. Koutarou is still neutral enough to follow his father’s orders; Daichi cannot trust him any longer.

Tomorrow he must again face the Lord-General, and now he has no one at his side or his back. He does not know how much she will press, and he does not know how he will speak with her on even ground, much less gain anything. He has already given into the betrothal in hopes of softening her demands of the blood reparations, but thanks to Suguru, he will not have even that.

Due to the second Setarian witch, everyone will know of Daichi’s involvement with Lev, and even if spite keeps them from telling his father about it, there is nothing to be gained from that, either. He does not gain anything from the reveal of the second witch’s identity, either. He cannot even recall his name, and he thinks that more dangerous than the prospect of the man under his nose.

Daichi has nothing and no one left to aid him.

All this time, he has merely been a puppet on lagging strings, a plaything for the King and the Lord-General to bat at like cats playing with a wounded bird. Had he ever truly stood a chance? He’s been at a disadvantage from the start. This is likely just another ploy of the two leaders against each other.

Horror drips into his despair, and Daichi wonders if this isn’t meant to further the war. The Lord-General had honestly told him she had desired peace, but perhaps peace means after some grand, sweeping defeat of the King. Perhaps Daichi _is_ meant to die. Perhaps he will be held hostage here in some heavy-handed attempt at negotiating with his father. There are many ways he can still be moved as a chess piece, and he fears every new thought that comes to him.

Fear does not dispel the tears, however; Daichi continues crying, until Koutarou fits himself over the back of Daichi’s chair and presses his cheek to Daichi’s hair.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Koutarou croons, with enough raw sorrow that Daichi knows he is genuine. “I know you believe this all to be a cruel game, Daichi. I’m sorry for my hand in it.”

Daichi shakes his head. Surprise and revulsion at Koutarou’s sudden skinship has quieted some of his crying, and though he struggles to catch his breath, at least he has stopped sobbing. Weeping in front of a witch, how pathetic.

Though Daichi has done more foolish things.

Koutarou releases him, only to pull Daichi’s chair from his desk and turn it so they’re nose-to-nose. Despite a watery gaze and hiccuping breaths, Daichi works himself into calmness to face him. He tempers his grief with the anger he still feels at Koutarou’s betrayal. It works, if barely.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Koutarou desperately repeats. His gold eyes shine in the candlelight, beseeching, and Daichi is aware Koutarou is on his knees before him. It’s rare that he’s lower than Daichi. “I know you find it cruel. I _know_ it _is_ cruel. Do you think I _want_ to hurt you, Daichi?”

“You chose my father over me,” Daichi hoarsely forces out. “You acted with Suguru against me.”

Koutarou’s entire face twists in anguish. His expressiveness is usually fascinating, but now, Daichi finds it wearying and painful. “I can’t choose you over him, and I can’t choose him over you—”

“You _did_. If nothing else, Koutarou, you were aware of Suguru’s plans and did nothing to stop him or warn me.”

“I’m sorry!” Koutarou exclaims and sets his forehead against Daichi’s knee. His soft, unmarked hands clutch Daichi’s trousers. Daichi feels inhuman points digging into his thigh through the fabric. “Look, you’ve got a witch prostrating himself for you, and you’re _still_ holding a grudge! You’re not a fair man, Daichi!”

Daichi’s temper flares; perhaps Koutarou’s show has lulled him into a false sense of security. “So this is an act, then, intending to flatter me into forgiveness? Most aren’t foolish enough to admit that outright, Koutarou. You’re not usually foolish like this.”

He does not raise his head again, but gone are the loud, desperate exclamations. Koutarou’s voice is as cold and hard as steel when he admits, “There are things _I_ want, too.”

For a fleeting moment, Daichi nearly has a hope of buying Koutarou out from beneath his father. Just as he’d tried with Suguru. Daichi will not try again.

“Your greed betrays your oath, then,” Daichi says, and it is a mistake.

Koutarou’s nails rip into his leg and Daichi shouts and jerks back in pain. Koutarou is off him again in a flash, hissing in his own pain, fingertips smeared with red and his own pants slowly seeping blood from the mirrored injury.

Koutarou flicks Daichi’s blood off his fingers, back at Daichi. “I serve the royal blood, not the bags of flesh it wears. You and your father would _both_ do kindly to remember that before trying to play tug of war with me like children. You make it damned difficult to like you sometimes, Daichi.”

With that, he vanishes, and Daichi only then releases the breath he’d been holding.

Another thing he has fucked up, then.

 

—

 

“No, that is quite alright, I’m not a man who _needs_ sleep occasionally,” Morisuke mutters as he bandages Daichi’s legs. He has already used what magical ability he has to mend the torn flesh, but he insists on bandages as well.

Commandant Futakuchi lays in Morisuke’s bed, breath rapid and body still. His face shines from feverish sweat, even in the low light of the candles.

“I apologize,” Daichi murmurs.

Morisuke grimaces. “You drop apologies too easily, my lord. It is nearly as bad a flaw as your temper.”

_Or how easily I trust_ , Daichi privately, _bitterly_ adds. “You are allowed to request he be moved.”

“No, you brought him here, so surely he fits somewhere in your grand schemes.”

That stings. Daichi cannot hide his flinch, and Morisuke peers up at him. He kneels before Daichi, who is seated, and the position so closely resembles Koutarou earlier that Daichi turns from him.

“Your eyes are rather red,” Morisuke mildly remarks.

Daichi glares at him from the corner of his eye. For all his sorrow, his pride is still there; Daichi may be accepting his defeat himself, but he does not wish for others to throw salt onto the wound. Even healers.

“I know from listening to all of his badgering that General Sugawara has been barred from your quarters. An odd gesture, I think, considering how well you two got on just the day before last.” Morisuke pats the finished bandages on Daichi’s leg, and stands, joints cracking with the movement. He turns from Daichi and pretends to check over Futakuchi. “Am I allowed to ask what happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Daichi croaks.

“It is nearly dawn, my lord,” Morisuke replies dryly. “I may be a humble healer, and I’ve never sought to overstep my bounds, but Daishou has been confined, General Sugawara has turned out one of the guards from his room and refuses to leave, your witch is sulking like a particularly dangerous child, and you have gone off gallivanting who knows where, only to bring me a dying enemy at the end of the day.”

Koushi had been the one to insist on seeking help for Futakuchi. Daichi, troubled by the sight of violence right in front of him, had allowed it; Setarian or not, he would not allow anyone to bleed out at his very feet.

But now, he wonders if that was a ploy, too. It’s not as if Daichi has ever known much about what goes on in Koushi’s head.

Daichi contemplates Morisuke’s back as he fusses over the unconscious commandant. The man is already privy to a fair amount. Morisuke has never shown any inclination to play mind games or barter information like coin. Daichi has every reason to trust his own healer.

But this man also attends to his father.

Daichi does not explain the day to Morisuke, and Morisuke does not press further.

 

—

 

The sun peeks over the far-off mountains and the sky is pink with it by the time Daichi gives in to his own exhaustion. Koushi, despite all manner of ordering around Daichi’s guards and inquiring about all manner of detail about his envoy, had not come to Daichi.

Daichi, instead, goes to him.

Koushi sits up in his small, borrowed bed, as soon as the door opens. His eyes are first wide with alarm, then they soften with recognition, and finally something like affection. Daichi doesn’t trust that, either. He fears he can never again trust.

“Why did you want to save Commandant Futakuchi?” Daichi tiredly asks from the doorway.

Koushi frowns. He looks remarkably awake, despite his tousled hair and rumpled sleep clothes, but he ruins his own image with a wide yawn he does not bother covering. “We have much to discuss, Daichi.”

“I’ve sent word to the other Generals that I am still ill.” He knows the Lord-General won’t press him. Perhaps she is still enjoying her game.

“Then we can sleep later into the day, and talk later.”

Though the bed is small and appears uncomfortably hard, he slides to the side, and pats the empty space. Daichi goes to him. He collapses onto the bed, still dressed, and Koushi tuts at him with something edging on fondness.

He does not ask Daichi, and instead shuffles down and begins unlacing his boots for him. He pushes and tugs at Daichi as he sees fit, undressing him with quick efficiency, and Daichi moves as best as he is able to help. It is strange, being tended to in this brusque manner. It is not as if he has needed this level of care in many years.

Koushi’s hands do not linger anywhere unduly, nor is he playful with any of his movements. But when Daichi is left in just his smallclothes, he pulls him down into the bed and pulls the sheets up over him, like a child tucked in by a parent. The difference now being that Koushi is still in bed with him.

After a moment of thought—Daichi can _see_ him thinking, even if he cannot unravel the mysteries of his mind—Koushi pulls off his own sleep shirt.

“You said you don’t like sleeping bare,” Daichi murmurs.

“I don’t,” Koushi replies and slides down into his spot tucked into Daichi’s side. They both maneuver until Daichi’s back is pressed to Koushi’s chest and their legs are tangled. “But I think you deserve what _you_ want for a night.”

Daichi lets out a snort of amusement despite himself. It makes his throat protest, and he coughs a few times. Koushi rubs his hand over Daichi’s waist soothingly, waiting for him to quiet again.

“I’m a prince,” he rasps, “shouldn’t I always deserve what I want?”

“Depends what you want,” Koushi hums. Daichi feels the ghost of his lips against the nape of his neck.

“I just want peace,” he sighs.

 

—

 

They sleep until the sun is high and Morisuke comes to announce that the man in his care shockingly did not die during the night. He makes no remark upon finding the two of them entwined in such a small bed. He doesn’t seem surprised to find them together at all. He leaves as quickly as he’d come.

Koushi yawns, and Daichi finds the way he does not bother to cover it again rather charming. The smell of his sleep breath, however, is _not_ charming. Daichi shifts until his head is tucked beneath Koushi’s chin, the two of them pressed flush from sternum to thigh. Koushi’s hardness presses into his stomach, but neither feel any urgency on the matter.

“Good morning,” Koushi finally says.

“Good morning,” Daichi mumbles back. His voice is still rough, but it does not pain him to speak.

“We have many matters to discuss, you and I. I spent my many hours alone last night going over them.”

“In case it weren’t obvious, I had other things on my mind last night than entertaining you and your cryptic words,” Daichi mutters. He wishes he could go back to sleep.

“Daishou betrayed you,” Koushi says without malice, but Daichi still flinches. Koushi’s arms tighten around him. “And you found out about Yuu’s true identity.”

“How can he be related to General Tanaka?”

“It’s not by blood. I’m not even certain Ryuunosuke is related to her by blood. But she has claimed them both as her brothers, and there is little room for dispute on the matter.”

Daichi cannot fathom having a witch as any kind of family. Magic has never been in the royal line; he can’t even fathom having a brother who can create fire at will. Tooru had his magical pair of guards, too, plus Hajime. “Is there anyone else close to the Council with magic?”

“One of General Washijou’s advisors can manipulate plants, but that is all as far as I know.”

“What else did you need to speak with me about?” Daichi asks.

Koushi takes a long moment to respond. “I’d assumed you would be more favorable to the prospect of discussing the inner workings of Setarian politics and your future plans here,” he says, lightly.

Daichi sighs against Koushi’s collarbone. “I mean no disrespect. I am very tired, and very frustrated, and I do not look forward to anything as of late. It’s no mark against you.”

If Koushi is still miffed, he does not show it. He begins to card his fingers through Daichi’s shorter hair, scratching over his scalp every few passes. “Do you trust me?”

“Do you mean in bed, or out of it?”

“Daichi, if you’d like to return to the coy talk, I can certainly join you,” Koushi replies in exasperation. He tugs, lightly, on Daichi’s hair. A warning. “I am trying to _help_ , if you’ll allow me.”

“I trust you in bed,” Daichi sighs, mindful of the cuffs he still wears, “but no, I do not trust you outside of bed. I trust you as a person I’ve grown terribly fond of, but I do not trust you as a General of the opposing nation.”

“Well, this person you’ve grown terribly fond of _is_ a General in a nation against you,” Koushi replies, “and that is not a fact you can separate. I can help you, Daichi. If you’ll permit it.”

“I’ve just been betrayed by my advisor and my Court Witch. Why should I trust you over them?”

“Because, even being unable to speak of the Lord-General’s plans or many other things, I still know how you can achieve what you want.”

Daichi slowly draws his head back, in order to search out sincerity in Koushi’s copper eyes. Koushi smiles, tender, down at him, and allows Daichi to read his expression for as long as he needs. When Daichi relaxes, Koushi dips down to press a kiss against his forehead.

“You’re tempting me,” Daichi complains.

“It is, unfortunately, what I’m here for. Now, my young, naive, trusting, depressed prince, I would like to help you.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“We’re officially betrothed, are we not? Why wouldn’t I wish to help my fiancé?”

_I look forward to my marriage with General Sugawara_ , Daichi thinks, and he wonders if it is still true. It does not matter anymore, but perhaps he won’t say those words aloud for some time. “Speak plainly, for once in your life.”

Daichi’s arms rest on either side of Koushi’s waist, but at his words, his wrists snap together and they end up falling off the bed. Both of them end up wheezing, and Daichi’s arms are pinned beneath them both—he worries something might have gotten broken, for how his hands hurt. Koushi wriggles, whining, stuck between Daichi’s body and the dig of his arms into his back.

“You’ve spoken plainly more than once in your life,” Daichi grumbles into Koushi’s chest, and he’s released.

They sit up, away from each other, rubbing away aches and pains. Daichi flexes his hands, and while they hurt, he thinks nothing is truly broken.

“Be _smart_ about your tongue for once in _your_ life,” Koushi says, meanly, though he looks as if he regrets his tone at once. He takes Daichi’s hands in his and gently massages them, as if by apology. “You need to be better aware of your words,” he adds, softer.

“I will try,” Daichi mutters, just as embarrassed.

“Now we’re both awake and up, I suppose. If you’ve the day to yourself, then I can remain here as well. She won’t like it, but Lord-General Oikawa will believe well enough that I’m playing nursemaid to you. You need to sort out your next move.”

“The next move is the blood reparations.”

“And how will you handle those negotiations this time? The last time didn’t go well for you.”

“Did you _know_?” Daichi demands, both peeved and suspicious.

“No,” Koushi replies calmly, “but I would have told you. Believe of me what you will, Daichi, but I earnestly would like to help you.”

“Your stubbornness in this is both reassuring and frightening,” Daichi deadpans. “Will you tell me now what I’ve done to suddenly earned such good favor from you? It can’t be the marriage, you don’t care about that.”

“I care about becoming royalty,” Koushi replies with eyes averted. “…This is nothing new, Daichi. It is just the first time I’ve been able to show it. You spared Keiji. Tooru will be suspicious, but they cannot prove he’s still alive. With a title and your help, I’ll be able to save him.”

Koushi then meets Daichi’s gaze, eyes shining with both determination and gratitude. He squeezes Daichi’s hands.

“Thank you, Daichi.”

Daichi finds himself flustered for reasons he cannot identify.

Koushi grins, then, bright and genuine in a way Daichi realizes he has not seen in some time. “And what a wonderful way to segue into one of the matters I’d like to discuss with you. I’ve been moved into this wing for the duration of your stay, along with my belongings and any attendants I have.”

“How much do you have?” Koushi had not struck him as particularly wealthy, even for a Setarian General, and he is not certain how much of his military-issued belongings he would be allowed to take with him. …It might be best if Koushi left behind most of his military gear, actually, and he wonders how much Koushi has that is not Setarian.

Daichi is going to have to outfit him, isn’t he.

“It would be better if I show you. Come, we can find food, too. Your stomach had been growling in your sleep.”

Koushi tugs him to his feet, and they get dressed just as much as it means being decent. (For Koushi, yet again, he uses this definition _loosely_.) Koushi ties Daichi’s shirt closed for him, tucking his mother’s signet ring beneath it, and pats his chest when he’s done. Right over his heart. This all seems painfully domestic, and Daichi cannot help but wonder if that is another game Koushi is playing at. They’re already betrothed; there is nothing left for Koushi to win here. He will have his title and his power independent of Setaria.

Koushi leads him to another room, further down the wing, closer to the supply closets. Closer to where Suguru is confined. Daichi fears some sort of secret collaboration, but Koushi does not lead him there. Instead, it seems he has borrowed a room of his own—inside, amongst shelves of old books, are an open trunk full of various uniforms, a belt and pistol haphazardly thrown on top, with scattered papers stuffed in the corner as well as spread out on the tiny table in the corner.

Seated by the tiny table is a man that Daichi does not recognize at first.

He is dressed plainly, but the pants are certainly Amicoran grade. His black hair has been shorn short on the sides, and the top is barely long enough to reveal how curly it is. White bandages around his neck peek out beneath the collar of his shirt, and the man is clean, outside of charcoal smudges on his fingertips.

“Hello again, Your Highness,” Keiji coolly says.

“Belongings and _attendants_ ,” Koushi reminds Daichi with a nervous chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi gathers up what power he can muster, and plans his next move. Allies come in strange forms, but he cannot turn down any help.


	28. be bloody, bold, and resolute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koushi makes a helpless sound this time, and hastily sips at his tea, as if his mouth hurts.
> 
> Sympathetic despite himself, Daichi drops the subject. “Suguru probably has thoughts on that as well. He may be the missing piece to this dreadful puzzle.”
> 
> When Koushi speaks again, his voice is nearly as rough as Daichi’s. “Perhaps it is best to speak with him, then.”

“No,” Daichi says at once. He himself doesn’t even know what he means.

Keiji calmly looks to Koushi for his lead. Koushi laces his fingers in front of himself, a nervous gesture, and smiles at nothing as he avoids both of their gazes.

“I don’t trust anywhere in Vierage to be safe enough. If he stays here, then he cannot be touched, and he can leave with our envoy. If I can keep him close, then he’ll be safe,” Koushi explains, hesitant, unlike his usual self.

“The last time I was left on my own here, I was contracted to kill His Highness,” Keiji unhelpfully reminds them both. “Two of my phylacteries are gone, but I don’t trust chance.”

“Phylactery?” Daichi echoes, lost.

Koushi again takes his hand, and Daichi is too stunned to refuse. There are no other tables or chairs, so they ended up seated on the lid of the trunk, pressed tight against one another for enough space. “Keiji is a very valuable tool, Daichi,” he begins, too kindly, and Daichi frowns at him. “There are a lot of methods with which his masters hold his leash. He has three phylacteries, magicked vials of his blood, with which they could track him.”

“Had,” Keiji corrects. “Two are gone now.”

“I was given one by the Lord-General when I agreed to the job of trying to woo you into a marriage. The second would be given to his current contract holder—I stole it from General Naoi’s quarters. We broke them with your witch’s help, and that was some of the blood we left in that room.”

“They said it was too much for a man to live.”

Keiji tilts his head back, baring crisp, white bandages. “Bokuto slit my throat. I’m sure he relished it.”

“We kept him from dying of it, but it was enough to make it convincing. He’s still weak, he needs to recuperate, and he’s not in any shape to be dodging the military or police.” Koushi continues fretting with his fingers, until Daichi reaches over to stop him. “Please, Daichi. This is the perfect cover.”

“What of the last one? You said there were three. I can’t… I cannot harbor a fugitive assassin, Koushi, not when things are already so delicate.”

“It’s not here,” Keiji answers for him. “It would be kept in the master storehouse, which is in Mun Tarik.”

Daichi had assumed Keiji to be foreign, or at the very least his organization, but he can hardly fathom half a continent away. Even Canuste is only separated from Amicora by the shared space of two countries.

Koushi desperately squeezes Daichi’s hand. “Even if anyone were to seek him out so soon—which I doubt—we would long be in Amicora. No one would fight royalty for that, no matter how good the assassin is. _Please_ , Daichi, this will be the only favor I ever ask of you again, I swear it.”

“Does anyone else know he’s here? Did anyone _recognize_ him?” Daichi asks, already loathing himself for considering it. The situation is fraught as it is. Every time he believes it cannot possibly get worse, the universe conspires to prove him wrong.

“Well, Bokuto probably knows,” Keiji reasons. “No one else would recognize me. I can either lay low here, or insinuate myself into your entourage. I’m skilled at enough things as to not draw attention to myself.”

Prostitution and assassination skills are not skills Daichi thinks he needs in his entourage at this moment in time. “Stay out of sight, and focus on… resting. Do you need a healer?”

“I am not in any danger of dying,” Keiji dryly replies. He, again, glances sideways at Koushi. “Unlike certain other parties…?”

Koushi frowns at him. “We can continue this discussion elsewhere. I know you have opinions, Keiji, but Commandant Futakuchi did nothing wrong.”

Keiji rolls his eyes rather dramatically for someone so otherwise reserved.

 

—

 

“Commandant Futakuchi is the man who was meant to receive the Council seat I now possess,” Koushi explains over tea together. The day is wet and grey, but at least the pitter-patter of the rain on the extended roof above them should drown out their conversation to any would-be eavesdroppers. “He holds a grudge, as you could surely tell.”

Daichi thinks of making a smart quip, but he’s conscious of the weight of the cuffs on him. He just nods.

“General Naoi left no suitable commandants who could be promoted, and there is also the issue of my absence from the Council, as I don’t have any, either.”

It’s odd, actually, to hear Koushi comment upon the men under his command. He has seen General Shimizu with her troops, and there is the case of General Tanaka and her brother. But even Tooru’s two magical men are far from directly under him, and he hasn’t seen any of the others with many military attendants. Setaria’s chain of command must be a nightmare.

“General Tanaka wants to promote Ryuunosuke, since he is a commandant and fairly accomplished at that. The Lord-General doesn’t want that, because as you can see, they butt heads. General Tanaka points out that there’s already three of the Oikawa line in the Council, though, so… As you can imagine, it gets tiring to hear them go back and forth,” Koushi admits, chin in hand as he stares out into the rain. “I’m almost glad they’ve locked me out of talks of succession. I imagine it must be far easier with royalty.”

“I’m the only child,” Daichi replies, though he knows Koushi already knows this. “But Koushi, this does not explain why you chose to save Futakuchi—or what I’m supposed to do with that assassin of yours. What do I even _call_ him?”

“Akaashi,” Koushi replies. “No one here knows him by that name, not even the Lord-General. I wish he had the complexion to be Canus, because I think it would be highly entertaining to try dyeing his hair white. As it stands, he looks Amicoran enough.”

Daichi cannot disagree. “This is a risky, desperate plan. You didn’t strike me as the type.”

“To have my dear friend’s throat slit on my orders, to fabricate a death authentic enough to trick even witches, to ask this war’s enemy for help in hiding him?” Koushi smiles thinly. “What makes you think that is desperate, Daichi?”

“You care a lot for him,” he murmurs, defensive.

“Jealousy is unbecoming. I have not pestered you with questions about _your_ attendants, even if they are tall and handsome and physical with you.”

“I’m not—” Daichi begins, but holds his tongue. He will not risk saying it aloud, even for the sake of his pride. Koushi’s smile relaxes, just a fraction, however. “I only find it odd, to save the old lover of my current fiancé. I know this marriage is for the treaty, but I’m fond of you, and we have not… negotiated how this marriage will work, come to think.”

“Negotiated? Isn’t that what you’re here for?” Koushi asks with amusement sparkling in his eyes.

Daichi grumpily sips at his tea.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease you, despite how easy you make it. I do appreciate what you’re doing for us.”

Daichi both cherishes and abhors the gratitude in Koushi’s voice. “I haven’t yet determined how it can get worse, so what’s the risk in it? Perhaps he will kill me in my sleep this time, and I will not have to wake tomorrow to face the Lord-General’s venom.”

“Akaashi will not harm you,” Koushi says softly. “What did you need to negotiate with me, Daichi? I am not some foe to be battled down with carefully chosen words.”

“There is the matter of the blood heir,” Daichi replies with eyes averted. “I do not know how to present it to the public, or how to stop your fellows from attempting to behead me for it, but if it were permissible by you, then that would be a good first step.”

“If you choose to seek pleasures or a womb elsewhere, I won’t stop you,” Koushi replies.

His neutrality on the subject gives Daichi pause, however. Not that he expects Koushi to argue—except, perhaps by the Lord-General’s bidding—but this is still odd. “I like you well enough, you know that, right?”

Koushi is now the one to look away. His pale cheeks appear pink, and this fascinates Daichi. “I’ve greatly enjoyed our time together, Daichi, but I’m under no illusions about what a long-term arrangement could mean for a young man. My feelings won’t be hurt if you were to venture. This is a political marriage.”

“Koushi,” Daichi says, and grasps his hands in both of his. Koushi is startled enough to look him in the eye, at least, and now _definitely_ pink in the face. “I have always known I would have a political marriage, and I have always vowed to be faithful in this regardless. I want to be a decent man. I don’t care about you being a man, but I care about the future of my country. If it weren’t for that, this wouldn’t even be a concern.”

Koushi tries to pull his hand free, suddenly flustering further, pink dipping into a charming red. Daichi holds firm, however. Koushi looks everywhere but at Daichi, lips trembling with a poorly restrained giggle. “W-Well, _I_ haven’t often thought about the prospect of marriage, so forgive me if I’m not so well-spoken on the subject!”

“You have the conversational edge in enough, allow me this,” Daichi says with wry amusement.

Koushi makes a despairingly embarrassed noise that Daichi would call _cute_. Even with trust as a question, Daichi struggles not to be endeared to the man. It is almost unfair.

“Are there any other amorous matters to discuss, or can we move onto more pressing things, such as how to finish this damned treaty once and for all? I may know how you can beat the Lord-General at her own mental game,” Koushi says, and he sounds delightfully harassed by Daichi’s attentions. Daichi makes immediate note to pursue this at his earliest convenience.

“Do tell. I’d like some good news.”

“Do you know what His Majesty is planning? Daishou must, to act so boldly.”

“I don’t,” Daichi replies, “and I would guess that Suguru does. If he does not know outright, then he is very clever and very cunning, so I would suppose he has guessed.”

“Well,” Koushi hums, and takes an annoyingly long sip of his tea. Daichi almost takes the cup from him to hurry him. “It may be foolish, but depending on what information you can gain from Daishou, then why not go along with the King’s plans?”

Daichi, for all his want of an answer to his problems, falls silent.

Koushi takes his gaping as the confusion it is. “If you are stuck between two overwhelming warring powers, then it could be wise to stop trying to be your own power _between_ them. Your father surely has plans of his own, plans he has faith in. You could very well go along with them, and that would be enough to overcome the Lord-General.”

“Father thinks the Lord-General is bluffing,” Daichi says when he regains something like coherent thought once more.

Koushi makes a noncommittal noise. He opens his mouth several times, searching for the words he can say through the magic, and Daichi waits with bated breath. Finally, falteringly, Koushi tells him, “The Lord-General has… alternate plans… and ultimately would not be heartbroken should the blood reparations not be included in the treaty. Her pride would be wounded, but not much else.”

“So it _is_ a bluff?” Daichi presses.

Koushi makes a helpless sound this time, and hastily sips at his tea, as if his mouth hurts.

Sympathetic despite himself, Daichi drops the subject. “Suguru probably has thoughts on that as well. He may be the missing piece to this dreadful puzzle.”

When Koushi speaks again, his voice is nearly as rough as Daichi’s. “Perhaps it is best to speak with him, then.”

 

—

 

Daichi finds Suguru with a bruise on his cheek and dried blood lining his nose and lips. “I hadn’t expected you to take so long,” Suguru says at once, voice thick with his injury, “and I’m very hungry. As such, I won’t speak to you until I’m brought a meal.”

“By the stars, is he always so mouthy?” Koushi whispers over Daichi’s shoulder.

Daichi does not recall inviting Koushi to this conversation.

He steps inside, Koushi on his heels, and to his alarm, Keiji slides in after them, silent as a shadow. He _certainly_ did not invite _him_ into this conversation.

“If I’m allowed access to the healer’s supplies, I’ll have him talking within the hour,” Keiji politely offers, eyeing the metal cuffs still on Suguru’s wrists.

Suguru glares at him, then his eyes go wide when he recognizes him.

This situation is already falling out of Daichi’s hands— _again_ —so he takes refuge in his anger. “Everyone, _out_!” He hauls Suguru up by the upper arm, dragging him down the hall to Morisuke’s quarters. Hopefully everyone will be so fixated on Daichi’s scene that they will ignore Keiji behind them.

The Knight Marshal posted by Morisuke’s door does not bat an eye when they push past.

Morisuke takes in the group now in his room: Suguru, with arms bound behind him and kneeling on the floor; Daichi, livid yet again and glaring at the assassin; Koushi, tutting over the prone form of Futakuchi in the bed; and Keiji, as unfazed as ever, nudging Suguru with the toe of his shoe.

Morisuke sighs.

He fixes Suguru with a particularly disappointed look. “What have you done, Daishou?” he asks, remarkably calm, despite the exhaustion visible in his stubble and the bruise-like smudges beneath his eyes.

Suguru has no gilded words for him, or Daichi. In fact, it appears he hasn’t registered the question at all; as soon as he noticed Futakuchi’s presence, he froze to the spot, crouched on the floor like a beaten, cornered dog.

When Morisuke grabs his jaw, none too gently, in order to examine his injury, Suguru jumps in the air as if a gun went off by his ear.

“Guilty conscience?” Morisuke asks without pity. “Who did this to you? As far as I know, you weren’t allowed guests, and this is not new enough to be the Prince’s doing.”

“It was the witch,” Keiji speaks up, and Suguru flinches at his words. “Also, he knows that injured man in your bed.”

Daichi and Morisuke turn to face Keiji with fairly matching looks of incredulity.

“He’s very astute,” Koushi mutters offhand.

“Very,” Morisuke agrees, wary, and when he maneuvers Suguru into a better seated position, he is careful to keep himself between them. “Was it Lord Bokuto who did this?”

“Who else?” Suguru asks in response.

“I’m surprised he did not kill you, then, if you incited his temper,” Morisuke says.

“I’m surprised he attacked you at all, considering what you _both_ did,” Daichi points out.

“He blamed me for whatever lover’s spat you two had last night,” Suguru replies, taking great pains to seem unaffected, despite the way Morisuke prods at his bruise. “I would thank you for a _healer’s_ touch, not a child inspecting a fresh kill.”

“Perhaps I’m shocked you _aren’t_ a fresh kill.”

“How do you know the man in the bed?” Keiji politely asks. Despite his neutral tone and quiet voice, everyone flinches when he speaks. “He is Setarian.”

“He is no more Setarian by birth than I am Amicoran,” Suguru grumbles. He catches Daichi’s eye, and spares him a horrible smile. “I will not lie to you, my lord. Even if these cuffs weren’t still on me, that would just waste both our time.”

“Then by all means, speak your piece,” Daichi says with a _continue_ motion.

Suguru smiles again, but it fades away when he turns to Futakuchi. Then, he becomes uncharacteristically somber. “Kenji and I grew up in the same human village on the fringes of the Witch Forest. We left at the same time—traveled together, for a time. I had no idea he had settled in Setaria…”

“Are all humans who grow up around witches greedy for power, then?” Morisuke asks.

“It’s a matter of survival,” Suguru replies with a shrug. Morisuke rather roughly wipes the dried blood off his face with a damp rag. “Your bedside manner leaves much to be desired!”

“Your loyalty leaves much to be desired,” Morisuke flatly retorts. “Is the man I’ve been taking great pains to keep alive a friend or foe, then? I will not be happy to hear I’ve been wasting my time and magic.”

“What is he, here?” Suguru asks.

“Commandant,” Koushi replies.

If he seeks to compare himself against him, Daichi cannot tell; Suguru seems neither impressed nor competitive. “Under whom?”

“…No one, technically. He had been initially promoted under General Kuroki,” Koushi replies, clearly cautious, but he takes his cue to continue from Daichi. “He believes himself to be deserving of one of the vacant General seats.”

“General Kuroki was the one you replaced upon her death, correct?”  

“Yes,” Koushi replies, even more guarded.

“Perfect,” Suguru chirps and nods over to Futakuchi—Kenji, Daichi supposes.

“What is so perfect about that?” Daichi demands.

“You can petition to inherit him, and that would make him now ours. Not that I particularly like the man, but he’s gifted with a rather keen sharpness for military tactics. He’d be quite useful.”

“Inherit? This is a man, not old jewelry,” Morisuke scoffs, but Daichi catches Keiji and Koushi exchange uneasy glances.

“Old Setarian law,” Suguru cheerily corrects. Morisuke wipes him down even more roughly with the cloth. “To help smooth the chain of command in case of abrupt changes. General Sugawara, as the replacement, can petition to inherit more than just the rank.”

“I was never told about that,” Koushi mumbles, and Daichi is uncertain as to whether he is defensive or annoyed. He catches Daichi’s gaze, and tries to smile. “Daishou is right, though. Commandant Futakuchi is clever, and he could be a valuable ally. It’s obvious he’s no friend of General Tanaka’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if Yuu tries to finish the job, so to speak, once he hears of his survival.”

“Yuu?” Suguru asks innocently.

“The other witch here,” Keiji answers. It is unnerving how easily he ducks in and out of the conversation without seeming pushy or loud. “This seems convenient.”

“It’s not the Lord-General,” Koushi replies, and that seems to satisfy him.

“Very well. I will guard him, and ensure his cooperation as soon as he is conscious—”

“Aren’t you a little _too_ eager to threaten a half-dead man?” Morisuke demands. Keiji does not balk, but he does have the grace to look away. “Nothing happens until he wakes up, if infection doesn’t yet take him. The more urgent matter is the snake on my carpet. What would you have us do, my lord?”

Daichi blinks at the prompting, confused at first. Then he sees what Morisuke sees: Daichi is flanked by two very dangerous men and had sought privacy for them all. “I don’t want apologies,” Daichi begins.

“I will not apologize for my behavior,” Suguru replies with a breathy little laugh.

Daichi resists the urge to kick him. Both because it would reflect poorly upon himself, and also because he doesn’t want to give Suguru the satisfaction of losing his temper so easily. “I want _answers_.”

“I gave you what you wanted, my lord,” Suguru declares with glinting eyes and a smug curl to his lips.

“ _Explain_ ,” Daichi bites out.

“You want a spy in your father’s good graces. I was bid to come here for two reasons only: to ensure your safety to the best of my abilities, and to try to accept the blood reparations with the stipulation that the timing be pushed back in order to ensnare the eldest General Oikawa as well. It’s very confusing, that there’s three. We’d be doing them a favor by trimming two of them out.”

Daichi knew, on some level, that Suguru had planned this all along. It stings to have it presented so casually, however. “You betrayed my trust in order to do so. I allowed you to speak for me—to speak for _me_ , Daishou. You’re a fool if you think I’ll forgive this.”

“You’re a fool,” Keiji remarks, and Daichi turns to him with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. Keiji cocks his head to the side, avoiding direct eye contact, but he doesn’t seem afraid. “He just explained himself, Your Highness. It is my understanding that you wished for a spy, correct? What use is a spy if they’re not trusted?”

“He could have… He could still…” Daichi flusters, and that only aggravates him further. “I wouldn’t _need_ a spy if if he’d done as I’d asked and the treaty had been taken care of to my satisfaction!”

Daichi is sent to the floor with a painful jolt in his shoulders.

“You always need spies,” Keiji says without remorse.

Koushi kneels to offer Daichi support, but his pride is too battered for Daichi to allow that, either. “I’d need spies,” he grits out, and stands.

“I’ll thank you not to bait my lord further,” Morisuke says.

“He’s right, though,” Suguru dares to add, and Daichi rounds on him once more. He shrugs, helplessly bound and supposedly harmless on the floor. “I was securing my own position for you. His Majesty demanded I make an enemy of you to prove myself to him—after that slip with the witches.”

“Witches?” Morisuke repeats, quietly, with a confused frown.

Daichi is going to have to decide, soon, where to draw the lines of information. He wishes, desperately, that either Asahi or Tetsurou were here with him now. He thinks back to Kenma, but that only sours his thoughts further. “Do you know what Father did while we’ve been here?”

“Of course,” Suguru replies, “he sends letters, demands updates of your situation. He’s very doting, in his own way.”

Daichi takes a deep breath and releases it through his nose.

“You can’t seriously be still thinking of punishing him. He’s made himself too valuable,” Keiji says, as if he’s a step from scolding Daichi.

“I do not care _how_ clever you are or who is protecting you—if you talk that way to me again, I will feed you to Koutarou,” Daichi snaps.

Koushi’s disapproving frown comes secondary to the witch _abruptly_ in their midst, floating in the air with his legs crossed and his chin resting on his fist.

Everyone jumps except Daichi. Childishly, it makes him feel a bit better. “I was gettin’ tired of waiting for a good reason to happen inside here,” Koutarou complains, and he glares at everything except Daichi. “Havin’ a little meeting without me? You’re gonna hurt my feelings, Daichi.”

“I called you in now, didn’t I?”

“I don’t like you,” Koutarou says with an imperious point at Keiji. He moves it along to Suguru. “Or you.” Then, Koushi. “Or you.” He skips over Daichi entirely, and wavers on Morisuke. “You can’t do anything to fix my legs, so I don’t like you, either. And hell, I don’t like that one in the bed, either. He’s going to say something stupid when he wakes up.”

“The good news is that no one must _like_ each other in order to work with each other,” Suguru points out, infuriatingly calm. “I have fulfilled His Majesty’s demands of me on this trip, and I have secured his trust. Unless, Lord Bokuto, you’d like to punish me for that as well?”

“I ought ta,” Koutarou replies with a particularly sharp-toothed leer.

“Don’t fight in my quarters,” Morisuke butts in with something admirably close to a glare in Koutarou’s general direction. “My lord, if you invite anyone else in here, _especially_ those who pose a direct threat to your person or the security of your plans, I’m going to have to put you on bedrest for what _must_ be a head wound, to make you act so addled.”

“Koutarou, is the magic on Daishou still active?”

“Yeah, he still has to tell the truth, whatever _that_ means to him.”

“Daishou, I will give you exactly one chance to try to save yourself,” Daichi declares and uncrosses his arms.

“I have your father’s trust,” Suguru spits, as if he is personally offended that this is not enough for him. Daichi raises a hand, and Keiji pulls a knife. “I can convince Kenji to join General Sugawara. I can play spy for you, better than anyone else.”

“I trust you even less now. This won’t be a very fruitful working relationship.”

“Trust in the fact that I would do _anything_ for Mi—Lady Yamaka,” Suguru says in the kind of low, desperate voice that Daichi has become accustomed to hearing when he speaks of the woman he loves. “Trust in love, my lord. Don’t you?”

Daichi spares him a long, cool look, specifically to make him sweat. It is so rare that Suguru appears ruffled. Even now, he clings to the vestiges of his composure, and despite his low body language and darting eyes, Daichi knows he still has some hidden depths to rely upon.

“Tell me how you can tell witches from humans on sight,” Daichi commands.

Koutarou huffs. The sound is on the border of a growl. Suguru, growing yet more nervous, glances up at him, but returns his attention to Daichi. He licks his lips before speaking. “You know very well I do possess this information. But do you really believe I am _able_ to give it up? Lord Bokuto had been sure of that.”

“You told me yourself, you can speak through magic holding your tongue.” It will feel horrible, Daichi recalls. He hopes it does.

“Must it be I who speaks it?” Suguru asks, and Daichi raises an eyebrow. He explains, “Kenji knows, too. I can convince him to tell you.”

“That was a very foolish move,” Koushi remarks, “since now you have given away another of your dwindling bartering tools.”

“Kenji must _hate_ you,” Suguru tells him with a sickening smile. Koushi scowls. “What makes you think you can convince him of anything, General?”

“I’m confident in my skills,” Koushi flatly replies, and Keiji nods.

“He would rather die,” Suguru says, smile widening.

Daichi must rein him back before he can recover. Though it is distasteful, he must go for the only weakness he has ever truly seen Suguru show. “Lady Yamaka is in charge of Alcaledo, hm? I haven’t been there in quite some time. I’m sure Keiji would love to see the city as well.”

Suguru’s smile drops off his face. “You wouldn’t, my lord. You’re too soft-hearted.”

“Fealty, to me, now,” Daichi orders with a voice like ice. “I am to receive weekly reports on my father’s plans when we return to Amicora. You will tell me _everything_ you know of his plans now. You are stripped of your role of advisor on this trip, and when we return. If you wanted to stay with him so badly, you could have refused my offer at the start.”

“Fear is not the way to gain someone’s loyalty,” Suguru hisses at him, teeth bared and arms shaking against the strain of his bindings. “I have only sought to secure my position—”

Morisuke pulls him back, and drags him into a kneeling position. “Fealty, he said. This time, none of the dramatics or loopholes.”

“You, too,” Daichi says with a sharp nod at Keiji.

“No,” he replies as if this were a simple decline of tea rather than the charged situation it is. “My loyalty is with Koushi, for the time being, thank you.”

“And I am with Daichi,” Koushi says sternly. They stare at one another, having some wordless, cryptic conversation Daichi would gladly bloody his hands to understand. “I cannot do anything until the wedding. I humbly ask that Keiji be allowed the same affordance. I will take full responsibility.”

Daichi does not like it, and his jaw aches from grinding his teeth, but he won’t have this argument in front of witnesses. “So be it. Daishou, you’ll be whipped tomorrow. I will not harm Lady Yamaka, and I will sanction your marriage to her. I find that generous, all things considered.”

When they leave Morisuke to tend to Suguru’s wounds (and no doubt interrogate him about the commandant still taking up his bed), Daichi hears Keiji remark, “The advisor was right. He _does_ have a soft heart.”

“It’s better that way,” Koushi replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi versus the Lord-General, round three.


	29. give them blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can only have conviction if I am sure of my actions,” Daichi replies.
> 
> “You were sure of them yesterday,” Koushi mildly points out. “Having steel in your spine is a good thing, Daichi. Don’t back away from it now, it’ll only invalidate it, even if you hate it.”

Suguru swears fealty to Daichi. Properly, this time. Koutarou bears witness, nearly a threat himself.

Keiji still refuses, and Koushi still defends him. Daichi orders Keiji to be stationed within Suguru’s quarters to guard—and keep an eye on—him. He reasons that if someone snaps and someone ends up dead, he will have one less problem to deal with either way.

Daichi begs out of another day under the guise of recuperation. His throat is fine now. He must muster what forces he can, which still leaves him grasping at the tattered edges of what had been a roughshod plan to begin with. Koushi’s idea of allowing his father’s planning to battle against the Lord-General’s sticks in his mind. It remains a tempting thought.

How he would _love_ to give up the power for just a single day, and allow someone else to take care of his problems.

 _I want to_ save _Father, not give in to his machinations_ , Daichi reminds himself as he pores, yet again, over the treaty draft. He has made his own corrections to the marriage clause, though he knows there will be smoother, more fanciful wording used later. _Suguru wanted to push back the date to force Mei into the blood reparations, and the Lord-General refused._

Can it even be counted as a sign of weakness, a mother’s love for her children? He has no idea how to use it against her. He does not have any weapons against her other than the earnest truth that he does not want his father to die.

“Your eyes will bleed if you spend much more time staring at that,” comes Koushi’s voice, directly behind him, making Daichi jump.

“I hadn’t heard you come in,” Daichi mutters, defensive. Koushi’s hands smooth over his shoulders, until he’s pressed against his back.

“I’ve come to fetch you for a meal. I know you haven’t eaten today, and it’s getting late enough that I don’t care _what_ you eat, just that you do.”

“I don’t have an appetite,” Daichi says. His wrists twinge, but no lie catches. “Why don’t we spar instead? I don’t think it’s rained yet today, so the ground shouldn’t be too terrible.”

“You cannot spar against me,” Koushi says without humor. “You can’t fight me, and you know it. You want to use me as punishment for some perceived wrong.”

“You don’t have much faith in my combat skills, do you?” Daichi tries, weakly, but he knows Koushi is right.

Koushi hums against him and presses more weight against his back. “I will not be the weapon with which you hurt yourself, Daichi. I find that nearly as distasteful as the reasoning behind it.”

Daichi sighs. “I know, I—”

“Men without conviction are revolting,” Koushi interrupts. One hand comes up, delicately trailing up the front of Daichi’s loose shirt, and gently cups Daichi’s throat. “As I understand it, you threatened an innocent woman, lost your temper, and punished your own subordinate for doing his job. I will not mention trying to steal Keiji or Futakuchi.”

Shame and disgust prickle at the back of Daichi’s neck. Koushi’s thumb draws circles against the side of his neck.

“I am not casting judgment upon you for yesterday. That’s not who I am. You’ve no idea the kind of blood I have on my hands, Daichi,” Koushi sighs.

“I haven’t stepped foot into this war proper,” Daichi allows. “I _know_. I’m lacking in experience and lagging behind my betters.”

“Not betters, no. But you built yourself on different foundation, and now you’re trying to change yourself into something you’re not. Don’t back away from violence or blood on _your_ hands, and don’t pretend to. You’ve made your decisions. You know who you are. You need to convince everyone else who that is.”

“I can only have conviction if I am sure of my actions,” Daichi replies.

“You were sure of them yesterday,” Koushi mildly points out. “Having steel in your spine is a good thing, Daichi. Don’t back away from it now, it’ll only invalidate it, even if you hate it.”

“Do you really believe Daishou was only doing his job?” Daichi asks in a near whisper.

“Yes, I do,” Koushi replies. He drops his hand from his throat, and presses a quick kiss against Daichi’s cheek. “He is a pain, but he had a point. Your wishes for a spy are moot if he does not have His Majesty’s trust.”

“Do you find me revolting for having doubts?”

“I find you naive, and proud, and perhaps painfully young. I also find your dedication to peace without further bloodshed admirable. I find myself drawn to your conviction on a good day.”

“Yesterday was not a good day.”

“No, it was not,” Koushi agrees.

Daichi’s eyes find the letter from Alisa, half-hidden beneath treaty papers. It would be so, _so_ easy to confess to Koushi all that has been weighing on him, to seek out his experience and counsel. He _wants_ to trust him. He wants to trust anyone again at this point.

But Daichi finds he cannot.

“If you won’t eat and I won’t fight, how about we compromise, and go back to bed? It seems as if you need stress relief,” Koushi suggests, warmth finally seeping back into his tone, and now his hands rove over Daichi with playfulness.

“I should whip that healer for inventing such a joke.”

“I find your temper charming, too, for how it directs you—though don’t misaim it again.”

“You find— _what_?” Daichi turns to him, startled out of his thoughts, and naturally finds Koushi smirking at him.

“It was enthralling to see you _demand_ to take charge of a situation and exercise your power. I haven’t seen it firsthand very much. I think we should investigate this further, in the direction of bed.”

Daichi allows himself to be tugged from his chair. He smiles, just barely, for the first time in what feels like ages.

 

—

 

The cooks here don’t make eye contact with Daichi, nor address him directly. Considering he has been here nearly a month, he finds it frustrating. He still does not find most of the food palatable, though Koushi tries to introduce him to as much variety as possible in an effort to soothe his refined palate. (He again offers to fetch duck for Daichi, but he would not like a repeat of the hunting trip, as much as he misses the fresh air.)

But it is a public space, and even if he does not find company or fare he likes, he needs to make himself visible again. The Lord-General has not pressured him to resume the peace talks, and Daichi will use that time wisely.

It had taken a great many hours, but he, Koushi, and Suguru had worked up something resembling a plan, combining Koushi’s knowledge of Setaria with Suguru’s knowledge of Amicora.

First, he needs a General in a neutral ground.

He gets it when the elder General Oikawa nearly bumps into him on her way out of the kitchen. She has two carrot sticks stuck in her mouth and a bag of more plus celery she hastily hides behind her back; she snaps to attention and chews guilty for a moment before addressing him. “Y-Your Highness! I apologize, I was distracted by my thoughts.” Her eyes find Koushi, and to her credit, her expression does not change. “General. I am pleased to see you are enjoying your engagement.”

“Thank you, Mei,” Koushi replies.

“I hope your health is returning, Your Highness,” Mei says, and after a long, weighty pause, she bites off another mouthful of carrot.

“Yes, it is,” Daichi replies with an attempt at a smile.

“I heard you were in the library the other day,” she says with another _snap-crunch_ of her carrot. “I do hope the Haiba boy wasn’t a bother. He is here to study, a guest of Canuste. I… believe you know his elder sister?”

“Yes, she is studying at the Royal Academy on scholarship. A very bright woman,” Daichi replies. Mei nods, eyes narrowed in calculation.

“Is that what Lev was inquiring about?”

“Pardon?”

“We find it concerning that he was bothering you while you were ill, Your Highness. But considering his position as a foreign national, we weren’t certain if punishment was warranted.”

She is trying to corner him—reveal information in order to protect Lev—but thankfully, this works beautifully into Daichi’s plan. He smiles, and pretends to appear bashful, while pulling Koushi closer via their linked arms. “Actually, I’m afraid the real reason was far more embarrassing. I had meant to surprise Koushi by learning a bit of his language,” he smoothly lies.

Daichi ends up on his knees before Mei, to her shock. He had nearly dragged Koushi down with him. Daichi does not raise his head to check her expression, but he’d heard her alarmed noise. It would work well enough.

“I-I apologize,” Daichi says, hanging his head. “It was not a surprise—he knows I want to learn Canus.”

It rescinds the lie, and Daichi sits back on his haunches for a moment, straightening his sleeves. He does not have to feign the redness in his cheeks. This is mortifying.

“I’ve been calling him terms of endearment to fluster him,” Koushi offers with a roguish grin.

“Is that so,” Mei replies thoughtfully.

“Is _that_ what _kvana_ means?” Daichi asks as Koushi helps him back to his feet. Koushi winks at him, and again Daichi feels his cheeks flare.

Mei excuses herself, sneaking off with her vegetable prize, and Daichi mentally congratulates himself. He will resume negotiations tomorrow, then. The Generals can be assured that his health has returned, and that the cuffs on him are still working.

He and Suguru still have not switched back, after all.

 

—

 

Daichi sits without any advisors or attendants in front of the Council of Generals. Koushi, again, sits far to the end, and the Lord-General, again, is seated in the center.

 _Conviction_ , Daichi thinks, and laces his fingers over the table between them. He has brought his own draft with him, on the off chance they wish to bring up the wording of the betrothal clause in order to stall for time or try to distract him. But now, Daichi is desperate, and he is determined. He hopes the mixture is potent enough to navigate this.

“Negotiations pertaining to the clause of the blood reparations will now resume,” the Lord-General announces.

Daichi _somehow_ maintains a straight face while telling her, “With stipulations, Amicora accepts the blood reparations.”

Her eye twitches. General Oohira hides his startled noise with a cough. Tooru is looking between Koushi and Daichi with open suspicion, and soon, his sister mirrors it.

“What stipulations?” the Lord-General asks.

“This again?” General Washijou hisses.

“Firstly, closing a war takes time, between the logistics of troop movements and the preparations for my upcoming wedding,” Daichi begins. With each word, the Lord-General’s expression darkens. He almost wishes he could recall Suguru’s exact wording.

“Your Highness,” General Kai breaks in with a kind but nervous smile, “forgive me if I am making rash assumptions, but I thought we put this behind us. Your advisor was—”

“Advisor Daishou is not here. I am speaking for myself, General,” Daichi replies. “And to ensure goodwill, I propose that we sign the treaty after our troops are withdrawn, to ensure that there are no _accidents_.”

“Why would there be accidents if the treaty were already signed?” Mei demands.

“There could be accidents either way. But if there were to be any further issue, then it is the duty of the ruling powers to see this through to the end. Isn’t it a matter of honor?” Daichi inclines his head, respectfully, toward the Lord-General. “The blood reparations are in place to punish those who began the war and started all of this bloodshed. It should be a matter of pride for them to see the end of the war, and to know that it was the younger generation to end it.”

“The younger generation is not ending it,” the Lord-General bites out.

Even if it is a flaw as much as it is a boon here, his temper keeps him from cowing now. He does not fear the inactive metal on his wrists. He does not fear the Lord-General. Daichi has always been called proud and stubborn, and now is a good time to prove it.

“ _I_ am the one who invited Setaria to end the war,” Daichi says in a low voice, but with a pleasant smile. (An attempt at one.) “ _I_ am the one whose goodwill sought peace, even in spite of His Majesty and the Lord-General’s insistence upon bloodshed and verbal sparring. _I_ am the one who you are speaking to now, about the blood reparations _you_ demanded of me. We have already made three concessions to you. I will not accept the reparations if negotiations are not a proper give and take.”

Daichi leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. He sets his sweating, folded hands on top of his knee.

He continues, head held high, “You’ve framed these blood reparations of yours as if you are making demands in a war you are _winning_ , Lord-General Oikawa. You are not. We are at a stalemate, and its cost grows higher by the day. These are equal-sided negotiations of a peace treaty.”

“What are these concessions you claim you’ve made?” General Shimizu calmly asks.

Daichi does not count off on his fingers like Suguru; he believes that may be pushing the matter a bit too far. “Firstly, Amicora entertained the Setarian envoy in our country despite the fact that no treaties were drafted in this time. We accepted the first draft sent to us from you as the basis from which we’ve built the treaty. Secondly, we accepted the betrothal of myself, the only blood heir, to one of your Generals.” Daichi pauses to lower his voice, and allows his displeasure to show on his face. “A _male_ General. In spite of this, we accepted, because we agreed that the bond between our countries would best be strengthened by this sort of union.”

“He is losing his status as a Setarian General—” General Oohira begins, but Daichi holds up a hand to stop him.

“Do not insult me to my face with false pretenses, General. Everyone present is aware of what your proposal meant. You mean to take Koutarou from Amicora, but do it politely and under the guise of peace. Many a night I have stayed up to rant and rave over the injustice of this, but here I am, accepting this.” Daichi again pauses, to allow weight to his next words. “Because I sincerely desire _peace_. This means sacrifices must be made. Sacrifices you have thus far seemed keen on.”

“Do not mistake these reparations for bloodlust,” Kiyoko says seriously.

“There is a difference between wishing enemies dead, and demanding justice for war crimes,” Tooru adds. “That’s why the clause stipulates anyone in power for half of the war’s duration.”

“The war would only end when all of our armies are safely home again, wouldn’t it?” Daichi returns.

“Why do you think you can push the same issue your advisor did?” Lord-General Oikawa demands. Her eyes have been narrowed to slits, lending her the image of a particularly angry snake. “You were in the room, Your Highness, and you lost your voice, not your hearing. This is redundant.”

“These negotiations will not continue until this is met to my satisfaction. If it is the child you are worried about, I will personally provide for the child’s upbringing and schooling.”

Mei goes very pale at the mention of her pregnancy.

“Gracious of you,” General Tanaka says through clenched teeth, “but why bother with the reparations at all, at that point? This is spite!”

Daichi does not point out how much of the treaty appears to be fueled by spite. It hangs in the air between them, anyway.

“We will not accept this stipulation. Do you have any others?” the Lord-General asks.

“Then Amicora refuses.”

The silence is heavy. Even Koushi, who is partially aware of the plan, wears an incredulous expression.

“…Pardon?” Nobuyuki says, faintly. “Refuses what?”

“The treaty,” Daichi replies with the casual shrug of one shoulder, as if this is no matter at all to him. He is aware of the weight of several sets of eyes on his cuffs, and he shifts his hands so that the metal catches the light clearly.

“The treaty that you prompted,” Tooru says, nonplussed.

“The _entire_ treaty?” Mei adds. She still appears pale, and now she could almost match Daichi’s sheets.

“This is a treaty to end a war between two major powers. Amicora cannot abide Setaria having such a heavy hand in all of the treaty process, and that includes outlining clauses. We have made concessions. We will not roll over to show our bellies.”

“You _want_ peace!” General Washijou nearly snarls, hands slamming down on the table, and he is the first out of his seat. “You young, stubborn fool, _you_ are the one who wanted peace first!”

“I do,” Daichi says, meeting his furious gaze as best as he is able. He hopes no one notices him wiping his sweaty palms on his breeches. “But I am my father’s son. I am no coward, and I am no puppet to be pushed around at your leisure. These are my demands. Comparatively, I find them fair.”

Daichi, with all of the might and weight of his royal blood, is going to call the Lord-General’s bluff.

He is _terrified_.

But the thrill of how unnerved the Generals seem is exciting, too. He still does not know what his father is planning—not even Suguru is aware of every minute detail, other than the fact that it hinges upon pushing the matter of the blood reparations as far as they will go. The King will stake his life on the fact that this is a bluff by the Lord-General.

Daichi, with no other resort left to him, will do the same. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Demands,” General Washijou spits like it’s a curse. “These are _negotiations_ , boy.”

“We have acquiesced to the bulk of the treaty as it was drafted by Setaria,” Daichi replies. He thinks his hands are trembling enough to be visible.

But he sees something in the Lord-General’s dark eyes that he has never seen there before: unease.

Whether this is a bluff and Daichi is forcing her hand, or she is disquieted by the thought of Daichi agreeing with his father’s demands, Daichi cannot yet know. He desperately hopes it is the former. Much of his own daring planning hinges upon the fact that there will be no blood reparations, and that he will not deal with a crippled Amicora and his last family torn from him.

“What _now_ , Nanashi?!” General Washijou demands, turning on her in a flash, both physically and verbally. “There is to be _no_ peace treaty if you don’t go along with these fool blood reparations of yours! _What. Now_!”

“It was never supposed to get this far!” Saeko shouts.

Daichi’s heart buoys, tentative, but hopeful.

“You’ll gamble with _our_ lives, but not your own blood, is that it?!” Saeko continues with growing anger.

“Are you implying that this isn’t meant to happen?” Daichi asks, loudly enough to cut across the storm.

“This entire thing is a _farce_!” General Washijou yells.

“General, sit _down_!” Nobuyuki calls. But the growing volume in the room only feeds into itself, and Daichi is losing track of the conversation as more and more raise their voices. He knows Saeko is shouting fully now, and Tooru has stood, between his sister and everyone else. Tanji begins pointing at Koushi and Mei, Nobuyuki is trying to get between them, and even Kiyoko has raised her voice.

Something is said that causes the Lord-General to abruptly spring to her feet with a _slam_ of her hands on the table. (Daichi wishes fiercely he knew what it was, but with the din, it would be impossible to tell.) The treaty flutters at the movement.

“We accept your stipulations,” the Lord-General announces, and the room explodes into a greater furor than before.

 

—

 

Koushi, with arms full of a strange mishmash of possessions, announces that he’s been barred from the Generals’ wing and will now be quartered exclusively with the Amicoran envoy.

If it’s meant to be a punishment, neither of them find it to be so.

Despite the clamor and violence and nerves related to the mess earlier, Daichi is positively _giddy_ with it now. No matter how it ultimately turns out, he won against the Lord-General today, and he did it under his own power. He knows it had been meant to be a bluff. He knows the Generals are not united. Seeing the cracks in their armor has bolstered his own confidence, and despite every setback, mistake, and near-tragedies, Daichi very nearly believes he can _do this_ now.

He cannot stop himself from gathering up Koushi in his arms and spinning him around. Koushi laughs and clings and flusters so prettily.

When Daichi stumbles to a stop, and he and Koushi are nose-to-nose and near high on joy and accomplishment, he finds that he does not give a damn that Koushi is a Setarian General right now. He is happy to have the man in his arms. He is happy to share this victory with him.

Someone clears their throat, pointedly.

Daichi becomes aware of not one, but _two_ witches suddenly in the parlor with them.

Hajime’s entire frame radiates tension and displeasure. Koutarou, impossibly, seems both tenser and more irritated. Daichi, Koushi still in his arms, finds himself between the two unhappy witches, and the mood drops into something frigid in an instant.

“Can we help you with something, Hajime?” Koushi asks with a voice impressively composed for the way Daichi can feel his heart hammering beneath his ribs.

“I’m here to escort His Highness to a private dinner with Tooru,” Hajime replies.

They had never set up a specific time, but Daichi does not point this out. He carefully sets Koushi down again. Koutarou bristles and crowds closer to both of them.

Tonight was meant for celebration, but this is not something Daichi can ignore. And, frankly, Tooru had meant to drink to excess tonight—Daichi could appreciate that, too. “Alright, I’ll come,” Daichi says. Koushi makes a small, disappointed sound, but no true argument. Daichi quiets him again with a kiss on the cheek. “I will be back for you later tonight, and then we may celebrate our upcoming union ourselves.”

“Why, how forward of you, Your Highness. I could very well believe you’re trying to proposition me.”

“If only this were half as much retribution for all the cheekiness you’ve shown me.”

“I’ll show you even more—” Koushi is interrupted by Hajime clearing his throat again.

They do not test the witch’s patience further. “Later,” Daichi says with a quick kiss to his cheek. “Koutarou, please stay in the wing and keep things contained here.”

“No, I’m going with you! I’m not leaving you alone with _him_!” Koutarou exclaims with a disgusted look thrown to Hajime.

Hajime sneers. “I wouldn’t worry. I’ve been ordered to fetch the prince, and then take my leave.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust you with that.”

“Forgive me if I don’t _care_.”

“If I may,” Daichi breaks in, just as nervous now as he had been facing the Lord-General, “please, escort me to General Oikawa for our evening together. We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting any longer.”

Escorting evidently means the instant transportation that Koutarou uses; Daichi no sooner takes Hajime’s offered hand than he finds himself in a dimly lit and mostly empty dining hall. His head spins, and when he stumbles a step, Koutarou is already there, bristling and baring his teeth at Hajime.

“Kou, it’s fine,” Daichi mumbles and pats his shoulder. He misses the first time. “I’m only going to spend some time with General Oikawa.”

“You’re gettin’ too friendly with these Generals,” Koutarou grumbles, glare still locked onto Hajime.

Hajime, nose in the air and arms folded tight across his chest, vanishes again. It takes a bit more coaxing, but soon, Daichi is left alone in the large dining hall with only the slumped figure of Tooru as company.

Despite it being called a dinner, there is only a single plate of _something_ laid out, and many kinds of bottles. Daichi takes a seat opposite Tooru, and only then does he man stir.

He raises his head. His eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, movements woozy. His speech is perfectly clear, however, when he extends his greeting. “Good evening, Your Highness. You haven’t started any more brawls today, have you?”

“None,” Daichi replies. “This is quite the dinner you’ve planned for us.” He eyes the food—if it could be called that—with unguarded suspicion. Some sort of thick sauce or gravy in a dish in the center, and surrounded with rows of small foods he assumes are for dipping. Celery, jerky, bread crusts, and more. He does not understand how it all goes together. Without Koushi (his makeshift poison tester, even if that already failed once), he is not thrilled to try it.

“Relax, Your Highness. I cannot do anything to you, and you cannot _possibly_ do anything worse to me,” Tooru says, and the very edges of his words begin to slur. He slumps down onto the table once more, only to pop back up a moment later and grab the nearest goblet. Daichi doesn’t know what the drinks are, either, but Tooru gulps it down.

Daichi drinks from that one next, both out of curiosity and solidarity. Tooru grins at him. It looks reddish from the drink and the dim light.

“You were my only chance at ever marrying a man, you know that?” Tooru drawls and pushes a bottle over toward Daichi.

The cork is only loosely in, and upon trying it, he finds he _likes_ it. Tremendously. “Is that a disappointment to you? Setaria allows open marriage, I’d heard.”

Tooru laughs, the sound edging high and bitter, and drinks from yet another bottle. “I’m doing you the honor of tasting these for poison, but I’ll be even drunker soon. Come, Highness, at least _pretend_ to keep up.”

“Once bitten, twice shy,” Daichi mumbles into the lip of the bottle he likes. It is already half gone.

“I find it _so_ amusing,” Tooru coos into his own drink, “you find yourself soon-to-be wed to a man, and you do not desire it. I would kill for your position, and I am denied it. By the same woman, no less.”

“You’re a grown man. How can your mother, even if she is the Lord-General, forbid you to marry?” True, arranged marriages are beneficial no matter with whom, and the Lord-General seems like the type to value that.

“Iwa,” Tooru mumbles. He rolls the glass bottle against the table, and Daichi drinks more as he waits. “Hajime. I loved him, once, you know. I was young and foolish and a child, but still, I loved him.” Tooru meets Daichi’s eye, and suddenly he seems far more sober. Daichi recognizes the glint in his eye, sharp as a knife; it is just like his mother. “I prodded him one too many times when I was nine and he warned me he’d bite off my finger. He did. Two of them, actually.”

Tooru deigns to extend his hand across the table, and Daichi sees the scars on two of his fingers, right up against the knuckle. The scars, faded now, do not look neat; it had not been a clean cut.

“I wish I could laugh in your face,” Tooru mumbles, sulkily, then takes another long pull from the bottle. He empties it, and it drops to the floor with a noisy clatter. He is too inebriated to jump; Daichi takes it as a cue to drink more.

“Shouldn’t I be the one laughing, after today?” Daichi cannot resist asking. When Tooru glares at him over the table, Daichi grins against the bottle. “Give me this much, General. It was a hard-won victory, and you know it.”

“You’ve accused us of trying to start a coup in your home, and instead you come here and nearly start one _here_ ,” Tooru grouses. “You’re a very unfair man. I’m sure you would’ve been a very spoiled husband.”

“Why does everyone expect a Prince to be anything but spoiled?”

“Why did you expect Generals to be anything but ruthless?”

Too soon, Daichi finishes the bottle of whatever delightful liquor that had been. He makes a note to ask Koushi for more to bring back with them.

Tooru chuckles when he sees Daichi inspect the other drinks for more. “You like witch wine, do you?”

Daichi’s hand stills. “ _What_?”

“Maybe you got a taste for it at home, hm?” Tooru teases with a mean smile. “Maybe that scary witch of yours likes to keep you drunk, so you’re easier to control, take advantage of. Did you love your witch, too, Highness? It’s difficult growing up next to the epitome of power and strength, isn’t it?”

“What does it matter? Are you looking for someone to commiserate with, or someone to blame?”

“Both,” Tooru decides.

“Why did you truly call me here tonight? You asked for me before today’s events, so it can’t be related,” Daichi says, finally selecting a new drink for himself. This one edges on too sweet, but it is not unpalatable. Still, neither of them touch whatever manner of food their dinner is supposed to be.

“…To commiserate, I suppose. To be allowed to be wistful and sad for a moment. To be a young man, rather than a General, for a moment.” Tooru slumps once more, chin in hand. Now, Daichi cannot tear his eyes from the scars he sees there. He cannot imagine Koutarou harming him, even without the confines of his binding. “I’m expected to wed some nice woman and have children. That’s what Iwa’s oath is for. He hates us—he hates anyone over the age of twelve, I swear it. All he ever talks about is saving some poor young soul from another generation of vengeful, poisonous, insidious Oikawas, but he stays. He always stays. He _likes_ to see the blood we shed.”

“What is it like to have an honorbound witch at your family’s side?”

“He was my nursemaid,” Tooru confesses with a genuine laugh this time. He collapses into a fit of giggles, which progressively grow wetter, until Daichi politely averts his attention as Tooru wipes at his eyes. “I spent my childhood thinking the world was magical, with stories and songs of grandeur and colors you cannot imagine. Then, I grew, and I realize everything was ever just _black_.”

“I face the prospect of losing Koutarou in a generation,” Daichi says, and he again remembers that Kenma has been outed and promoted. No alcohol in the world could soothe that sting. He takes a long pull before continuing. “Father stole the other witch from my grasp while I’ve been here. Your sister already has a son, does she not? Even if you did not…”

“They don’t stay young and cute forever. Anything to keep darling Iwa around. Do you know what Mother would _give_ to have him bound to our blood? I believe that is at least half the reason why she loathes your fa—His Majesty the King so much. You haven’t had to work at keeping something too large in a cage too small.”

“I will soon. Koushi and I have discussed potential liaisons elsewhere, to try to produce an heir, but I know Setaria would only accuse it of being unfaithful to the treaty,” Daichi says.

Tooru snorts, and nods in bitter agreement. “There is an entire plan for it, Highness. I don’t wish for the war to spark again once we’ve finally doused it.”

“Neither do I,” he retorts.

“Koushi _deigned_ to allow you to sleep elsewhere, did he?”

“Yes, he did. It was gracious of him, and I assured him that my feelings for him don’t change.”

“Your _feelings_ ,” Tooru grunts, as if disgusted. “For _him_.”

“Yes,” Daichi replies defensively. He sets down his drink, and dares Tooru to say anything against Koushi. “I’ve grown fond of him, and he for I. We’re happy together, if you can believe that.”

“Won’t be for long,” Tooru hums into his bottle.

“What does _that_ mean?”

“He’s no witch, but do take care he doesn’t bite off _your_ fingers, Highness,” Tooru coyly replies and drains yet another bottle.

Daichi hardly remembers how much time passes, but he knows that when Koutarou fetches him again, empty bottles and goblets are scattered around them like flowers in a meadow. Koutarou takes the food when they leave, and Daichi cannot stand its cloying smell as Koutarou leads him back through the corridors. He thinks he may vomit. He wonders which is the Lord-General’s room so he may do it there.

Koutarou pushes Daichi back into his own quarters with a new bottle of the liquor that smells so good. “If _only_ making you drunk would make you easier to control,” Koutarou mutters before shutting the door in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: With wedding preparation comes the rest of the Amicoran envoy, and despite joyous reunions, darkness still looms.


	30. blood from old scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought _you_ were the King!” Daichi bursts out.
> 
> “I am. _I_ wear the crown, and it is certainly not _you_!” his father snaps with an equal amount of venom.

While there remain the finer details to be finalized for the treaty, the Lord-General declares the negotiations to be concluded.

Half her Council does not take kindly to this.

Daichi is too staggered to present a case to the contrary; he finds himself stunned, if glad, that it is all _over_. They have a working treaty.

Then he realizes what this means.

The Lord-General never rescinded the blood reparations, despite the fury of the other Generals, and despite the fact that Nobuyuki and Mei will now be counted among those to be executed, despite the fact that Daichi does not want them.

It had not been a bluff. Daichi has sold his father to the executioner, following the man’s own fool plan.

Daichi is sick, then, and he cannot blame it on the alcohol.

“It will be alright,” Koushi soothes as he rubs circles into Daichi’s back. “It will be alright, Daichi. It will be alright.”

“How can you _say_ that?”

“It will be alright, and I can say no more,” Koushi replies, sadly, and Daichi retches again.

 

—

 

Even in the face of his misery and horror at himself, life goes on, and with negotiations closed, wedding preparations begin in earnest.

Daichi finally receives his first letter from Asahi: they have begun the journey to Setaria with their country’s envoy. It may be the happiest spot of Daichi’s entire trip here.

The truth-telling cuffs are finally unlocked from his wrists, and he allows Suguru to be freed as well. Considering his confinement, and cooperation therein, Daichi rescinds the order for him to be whipped. Suguru does not thank him, and Daichi does not apologize. He does not wish to speak to the man more than he must.

Unfortunately, Kenji wakes and will survive, so he must speak with Suguru in order to figure out how to progress.

Suguru is escorted to Morisuke’s room, and they find Kenji seated at the healer’s desk, and said healer sprawled in his own bed, fast asleep. Keiji stands dutifully by the door. “His only words since he’s woken has been to ask for water, and then to complain about everything,” Keiji tells Daichi with clear displeasure.

“It’s not often you wake in a stranger’s room, with another stranger standing guard, and no one offering any information,” Commandant Futakuchi says with a disarming smile. “But you, Highness, I recognize at last. Am I expected to… thank…” He trails off, eyes growing large, when he sees Suguru.

Suguru offers him a humorless smile.

They immediately begin talking in a chittering, curt language that Daichi has no hopes of understanding. Even Keiji seems uncharacteristically lost. “You two!” Daichi barks, but while Kenji glances in his direction, neither of them actually _stop_. “I forbid any conspiring against me—speak Continental if you don’t speak our language!”

“This _is_ our language,” Kenji replies, clearly enjoying himself.

Suddenly, Koutarou is there, crouched on Morisuke’s desk. Kenji jumps so badly he knocks over the chair and ends up sprawled on the floor, then curls over himself with a pained moan. “Actually, that’s _my_ language,” Koutarou happily corrects. “And your Prince gave you both an order.”

“Not—my prince,” Kenji gasps out.

“Do I have an offer for you, then, dearest Futakuchi,” Suguru says with yet another of his venomous smiles.

 

—

 

“I told you, I can make him agree,” Keiji whispers, urgently, as he follows along exactly half a step behind Daichi. How he does not step on his heels, Daichi does not know.

Kenji had been agreeable, surprisingly so, up until Koushi’s name had been brought up. Daichi has half a mind to allow the assassin his way with him. “Suguru has some scheme in mind, and we still need the knowledge by which to tell witches from humans.”

“The Setarian witch still wants to kill him. If we threaten him with that…”

“If he is anything like Suguru, he won’t be afraid of witches. Hell, he almost shot him when we first met. Insulted him to his face.” Daichi scrubs a hand over his face at the bloody memory.

“I’m not afraid of witches, either,” Keiji offers, “but I still would like to avoid fighting one.”

Daichi lets out a humorless laugh. “Not afraid, right. And I’ll pretend to forget how spooked you’ve acted around Koutarou since you got here.”

“I have killed three witches,” Keiji solemnly informs him.

Daichi manages to stumble, and finally, Keiji steps on his heel. They both stagger to a stop in the corridor. Daichi rounds on him, not sure whether to be suspicious, or frightened, or calculating. Keiji does not seem the boastful type, with his flat delivery of most information, but Daichi has never heard of a mere man killing a witch. “Is that _true_?”

“Two with help,” Keiji amends, seeming peeved by the reminder, “and one by myself. Surprise was on our side, admittedly, but it is possible. There is little need to fear what you know you can kill.”

“Can I drop him off the roof now?” Koutarou asks, right behind Daichi. He jumps and swears horribly. Keiji sulks like he has been caught at something particularly embarrassing, like a child sneaking sweets after dark.

“Witches bleed like any person does,” Keiji replies. He sounds irritated. Daichi needs to ask Koushi about this, because as fascinating as it is, he does not need them to _prove_ to one another what they’re capable of.

“Kou, I need Daishou and Futakuchi to sort out their differences, with each other and Koushi. Otherwise, he’s getting fed to Yuu. Would you make that clear to him?”

Koutarou grins, excited, and gives him a salute, but he does not vanish from sight like he normally does. Instead, he lingers, awkward and clearly needing something else.

“Did you need anything else?” Daichi prompts with a sigh.

Koutarou, now, is the one to seem embarrassed. “Need to ask Akaashi a question.”

“You may have him for the afternoon on the condition that you do _not_ throw, or any related verb, him off the roof, or any related noun. Am I clear?”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep him in one piece. And we’ll come up with a way to break the commandant!” With all the permission he needs, Koutarou seizes Keiji by an arm, and they both disappear.

Daichi massages his temples. His growing headache makes him wish Morisuke were awake, but he won’t deny the man much-needed rest.

 _Wedding preparations and preparations for the Amicoran envoy. Must figure out the remainder of the treaty draft. What to do about the blood reparations, though?_ Daichi still has no answer for that. He has come this far by pushing his father’s plan, so he fears he may need to wait for the man to progress again. He does not know if he will get the information from Suguru or if he will somehow jointly plot with his father, however, and that concerns him, too. Everything concerns him.

Despite the progress made, there is still much to do.

 

—

 

“I’d thank you to stop giving Lord Bokuto permission to do what he pleases with my attendant,” Koushi says while they are supposed to be discussing flowers.

“I told him not to harm him.”

“ _No_ , you told him not to throw him off a roof. He came back with a limp and a broken hand, and he hides injuries like a cat, Daichi.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Daichi says as apologetically as he can without actually apologizing, “Koutarou slunk back with another gash in his throat. It seems your man likes to try for the kill.”

“Lord Bokuto was inquiring as to how one kills a witch,” Koushi mutters and angrily turns a page in the book. “Shouldn’t a witch _know_ that? And why would Keiji tell him?”

“They’re allies, now, thanks to you,” Daichi gently reminds him.

“I would discuss methods by which to kill any day you like, Daichi, but it has yet to actually play out that way. That is not how you treat your friends.”

“He is _not_ my friend,” Daichi replies. He is losing patience with this discussion. Flowers do not interest him, but at least it is neutral ground. “I respect your relationship with him, Koushi. I am trying to. But don’t mistake that as warmth on my part for the man. He tried to kill me, and he hurt Koutarou.”

“He seemed to enjoy it,” Koushi mutters darkly.

“I will keep them separated to the best of my ability. Can we please discuss flowers now? I don’t know what you like or would prefer.”

Koushi finally relaxes, and while his smile is forced, at least he’s trying. “Canuste doesn’t have many flowers, since it’s too cold. I don’t mind anything. Show me ones from your country.”

The rest of the afternoon passes more lightly than most other things do in Daichi’s life.

 

—

 

Daichi realizes he knows little of wedding planning, and less still of Koushi.

“You can’t have _gold_ for the rings!” Koushi exclaims, absolutely scandalized by the very notion. Something Daichi thinks ought to have come up in conversation before. “That’s too soft a metal! That means the marriage will be soft!”

“Koushi, this is a political engagement in order to end a war.” Also, it is _Amicoran tradition_. Gold is one of his nation’s colors, and it features heavily in jewelry and fashion—especially when it comes to the royal line. Daichi’s family has had gold wedding and signet rings since the country was founded, probably. (He could potentially ask Koutarou about it, actually.)

“You wanted Canus traditions to spite the Lord-General,” Koushi points out.

“And what does Canuste use, then, hm? _Ice_?”

“Wood. Teeth. Hard metals, if you don’t work outside or have magicked gloves.” Koushi folds his arms across his chest, and Daichi finds that unfair, because this can’t be half as exasperating to him as it is to Daichi. “If you must have it be some sort of show of wealth, then have it be a precious stone or unicorn horn.”

“I cannot kill a unicorn for you, Koushi,” Daichi grits out, massaging his temples. He doubts he could even lure one himself at his age, even if he were fool enough to try to slay one.

“I can!” Koutarou declares.

“ _No_.” Daichi would not risk Koutarou’s health on such a fool quest. His father would have Daichi disowned if he tried.

“Keiji can!” Koutarou exclaims with twice as much eagerness.

Daichi tugs Koushi back from trying to attack his witch. He banishes Koutarou from the parlor, and they end up on a chaise lounge together, both of them submitting to cuddling in order to work out their anger. Daichi knows Koushi is not trying to be difficult. Daichi knows it’s his (read: Suguru’s) fault for demanding customs out of spite with no idea as to what they could entail. Daichi knows he himself is frustrated with a lot, and little of it is directly tied to the wedding.

“Father is set to arrive tomorrow,” Daichi says. He idly rubs circles into the dip of Koushi’s spine from where he lays atop him. “He will want answers. We’ll have to prioritize, and appear to be more composed and assertive than we are.”

“Though I knew that this wedding was in the future, I’d never put much thought into these kinds of details. I had assumed the Lord-General would have all say, instead of me.” Koushi tucks his face into the crook of Daichi’s neck, and in a softer, smaller voice, he adds, “I have never faced the prospect of a wedding for _myself_ before. Not anything that would reflect upon my old life or heritage. I was unprepared. I’m sorry, Daichi.”

“It’s a lot happening in very little time. I’m sorry, too. Stars know I don’t deal well with stress, as I’m certain you know by now.”

Koushi pulls away with a gasp. “What? _No_ , this is a shock to me! I think my heart may stop.”

Daichi snorts, and tugs Koushi back down, despite his squirming and laughter. “I can’t believe what wit you think you possess. You do not, in case you were wondering.”

Koushi laughs harder. Tension slowly leaves his frame, until he is a shaking, melted mass on top of Daichi, sprawled out with all the languid relaxation Daichi wishes he always possessed.

They fall into a doze together, hiding away from impending responsibilities for just a little while. It’s nice.

Later that night, when Daichi is departing Knight Marshal Kamasaki’s company from having to discuss the logistics of welcoming the new envoy (Daichi is pleased so many formal letters and requests have his name signed at the bottom), he is unexpectedly accosted by Keiji before he can return to his quarters. The hour is late, and many of his personnel are asleep, but Daichi is not surprised to find that Keiji thinks little of traditional sleep hours.

“I know where you can find unicorn horn,” he says instead of a greeting.

For a moment, Daichi considers what Koutarou would say if Daichi pointed out that Keiji were the one to obtain this for him. It would not be worth the resulting violence. “And how do you happen to have such information?”

“Because I killed someone long ago, and their business specialized in rare and opulent materials. I know the new owner has not changed the storehouses,” Keiji replies.

“Alright, then how do I contact this person?” Daichi asks, indulgent both because he wishes to please Koushi and because of the lateness of the night.

Keiji makes a face. Daichi is both unused to seeing proper expressions on him, and understanding what these expressions mean. Daichi would not find his expression out of place on sculptures of vile devils from other realms. “You… have a witch at your disposal,” Keiji says as though this physically pains him.

“And?” Daichi blinks at him a few times, then realizes what he means. “I will not resort to asking Koutarou for thievery. It’s beneath him, it’s beneath me, and it _should_ be beneath you.”

“Nothing is beneath me,” Keiji deadpans. “I would go to great lengths to ensure Koushi’s happiness.”

Somehow, he makes it sound like a threat.

“I _am_ a Prince,” Daichi points out, perhaps a threat itself as well. “Give me the name of your business owner. Father will commission rings, as is _proper_.”

“The business is in Mun Tarik.”

“Then _how_ did you expect me to use this information of yours?! That is half a world away!”

“You have a witch,” Keiji repeats, frustrated.

“No. And if you bring this up to Koutarou as a challenge or request, I _will_ have your head, you understand me?” Keiji may be taller than him, but Daichi knows how to intimidate men. Keiji, at least, averts his eyes and shuffles half a step back. “Koushi’s feelings be _damned_ , I will have you killed if Koutarou is hurt by you.”

“You couldn’t willingly prick his feelings, much less damn them,” Keiji mutters like a surly child and hastily departs after that parting blow.

 

—

 

It is late in the afternoon when they receive news that the Amicoran envoy have entered the outskirts of Vierage.

Daichi throws decorum to the wind, saddles up Captain, and rides out to meet them. Several people do the same, at his heels—Generals Oikawa (youngest) and Kai, Daichi’s younger knight, and of course Koutarou—but Daichi is the better rider between them, despite the fact that he has no idea where he is going. South, he knows. Vierage has relatively straight roads, so it’s just a matter of finding the largest.

Daichi sees the carriages first, gleaming white and gold in the weak autumn sunlight. He cannot tell who the frontmost riders are, but Daichi makes a visible enough figure himself, and soon several break off of parade formation to meet him.

Daichi recognizes Asahi first.

In the middle of the enemy’s capital city, they ride toward one another, and as soon as they’re close enough, they run to each other. Asahi nearly trips himself in the stirrup in his haste.

Asahi catches Daichi in his arms, and they embrace, tight and full of untold emotion. Weeks of struggle, of stress, of risks and betrayal and having no one he could trust—Daichi would worry about cracking ribs with the strength of his hold if Asahi were not such a large man.

And Asahi hugs him back, just as strongly.

But Asahi’s first words to him are not the warm ones Daichi expects.

“My lord,” he says, his voice wavering with the emotion of their reunion, “I rode here first under the guise of sentimentality, so we must keep up appearances. But there are urgent matters I must tell you, before anyone else joins us.”

Daichi is stunned, and on some deep, perhaps childish level, _hurt_ that their reunion must become this. “I know about Kenma, Alisa told me in her letter,” Daichi replies through his hurt.

“It is more than that.” Asahi smooths his large hand over Daichi’s hair, like he did so many years past. Daichi holds onto him impossibly tighter. Asahi can cry whenever he wishes, a skill Daichi certainly does not possess, but he can at least keep up appearances like this. “Tetsurou has been reassigned. His Majesty has a new attendant, someone no one knows, not even Advisor Oiwake. Kenma has accompanied us here as a show of power. And there’s more—”

Koutarou reaches them and nearly sends them both to the cobblestone below with the force of his own embrace. “ _Asahi_! Finally, someone else for Daichi to be mad at for caring for him!”

Both men wheeze as Koutarou lifts them. He spins them, simply for the effect, causing Asahi to let out a particularly dismayed sound. Daichi would laugh if there were breath left in him.

Other members of both parties arrive—members of his home excited to see the Prince, a particularly nosy Tooru, heralds struggling to make announcements beneath the cries of reunion. Asahi takes it upon himself to take care of their horses—at least, his own and Captain, drawing them to the side and trying to bow out of the attention given Daichi. Daichi knows why, but it pains him to have him farther than arm’s reach again.

The envoy reaches them at last.

The King arrives as Daichi did: flanked by officers of an army, astride a grand beast, fitted in finery, head held high. The army escorting him, however, wears white instead of black. Daichi struggles not to lose his grin in the face of this kind of image. His father knows what he is doing.

Daichi cannot help craning his head for Tetsurou. As poor with horses as he is, it is no surprise that he is not riding, but with so many excited countrymen all vying for his attention, Daichi does not have a chance to spot him.

Koutarou, on the other hand, is not swarmed, and is similarly eager. Daichi only has to keep _him_ in his sights.

Attendants cluster around to help the King dismount, and Daichi nearly forgets himself and tries to avoid addressing him. But this decorum cannot be ignored, especially with Generals Oikawa and Kai watching, hawk-eyed.

“Father,” Daichi murmurs, taking a knee before him.

“Rise, Daichi.” His father’s voice is warm, for him—he does not smile when Daichi rises to look at him, but the corners of his eyes are crinkled. “I’ve missed you, these long weeks with you abroad. How have you found Setaria?”

 _Abysmal_ , Daichi wishes to say, _and terrifying, and cold, and trying. How have you kept pace with them all these years?_ His smile is not so strained when he says, instead of those thoughts, “I will enjoy being home more, Father.”

“As a married man, no less!”

Daichi is startled by one of the knights breaking rank and looping her arm with his. “Yui!” Daichi exclaims in delight. _She’s finally gotten to travel_ , he realizes, happiness blooming even more warmly within him.

“Your Majesty, your son is to be _married_!” she gushes, as if he weren’t aware of this. “You must be so proud of him! Look at all he’s accomplished here.”

The King surveys the small crowd (slowly drawing a crowd of citizens, too, albeit at a distance): two Setarian Generals, a mass of attendants and knights and military personnel, and the Prince who finalized the peace treaty. His mouth presses into a line. It is not a scowl; Daichi might say he’s trying _not_ to smile. “A fair deal indeed, Daichi. I’m proud of you.”

There is something odd in his voice, and Daichi’s joy at this large reunion is not enough to distract him.

What _is_ enough to distract him is the head of wild hair and uniform of crisp white that finally stumbles out of one of the carriages. Koutarou’s excited whoop snaps Daichi’s head around like a whip.

Tetsurou stretches his arms over his head, then turns back to the carriage and offers his hand.

A young man with hair like finely spun gold steps out.

Koutarou and Daichi stop short.

The man has the same voluminous, brilliant eyes Daichi has gotten used to. His face has lost some of its roundness, making him appear older, and his frame seems slightly taller to match. His hair must be long, for it is twisted up into a deceptively simple knot and lined with pins of jewels and strings of gold nearly lost in the color of it. He does not hunch his shoulders or avoid contact now; he stands to his full height, shoulders back, chest out, gaze coolly surveying everyone with a distance only afforded to the truly powerful.

Kenma breaks into a smile more vile than anything Suguru has ever shown when he catches sight of Koutarou.

“What have you done,” Koutarou asks.

 

—

 

The building may have been an old palace, but it is hardly as huge as Daichi is used to. The newly arrived Amicoran envoy is housed in a separate wing as Daichi is, which he finds strange at worst. His father finds it insulting at best. There is shuffling of personnel and sleeping arrangements, and as much as Daichi has grown to like the people he has spent these many weeks abroad with, it is with abject glee that he moves Suguru and appoints Asahi there.

Not an hour into their visit, and the King and the Prince get into an argument.

“You can’t reassign _my_ man,” Daichi maintains, arms crossed, expression stormy.

“Daichi, you know witches supercede any existing rank,” the King replies, just as tense and stony.

“How shocking it is that Kenma was discovered to be inhuman.”

“My heart is filled with gladness that nothing came of his proximity to you when you were unaware.”

The two men attempt to glare each other down. Kenma, seated primly on the bed, picks at the expensive varnish on his nails with his usual amount of distaste for all things opulent. Tetsurou avoids looking at everyone. Asahi must be _very_ glad to be stationed outside the door.

Koutarou hovers near the canopy of the bed, glaring down at Kenma like an angry, treed cat.

Kenma continues to smirk whenever they make eye contact, something which is beginning to fill Daichi with more and more dread. Kenma is hardly expressive, much less _openly_ antagonistic. Daichi remembers the slight shift in personality from when Kenma had been discovered to be a witch; he had seemingly enjoyed the freedom of not having to pretend to be a servant any longer.

 _Is this similar?_ Daichi frets. He had assumed Kenma to be quiet and distant as a default, not as a result of his cover.

“Tetsurou is _mine_ ,” Daichi is forced to say.

“Daichi, you cannot be blind to where the witch’s desires lay,” the King says, quietly, as if Kenma cannot hear him. “Koutarou was fond of both of you, as children and into adulthood, but Kenma—”

Koutarou starts growling. Daichi wonders if he is going to grow a tail to lash behind himself in his fury next.

“Kou, please,” Tetsurou says weakly.

Kenma turns up to Koutarou with another disgusting, benign smile.

“You cannot reassign Tetsurou. He is to remain my advisor,” Daichi maintains.

The King does not raise his voice, conscious of the two witches in the small room with them, but it is with no small amount of frustration that he says, “You’re being unreasonable, Daichi.”

“ _I_ am?!”

“Yes, you are! You do not understand what you need in order to maintain power—”

“I thought _you_ were the King!” Daichi bursts out.

“I _am_. I wear the crown, and it is certainly not _you_!” his father snaps with an equal amount of venom.

They glare at each other.

Nothing gets resolved, and the scene is broken when the Lord-General summons them to make official reintroductions to Koushi.

 

—

 

When Daichi retires to his chambers for the evening—sans Koushi, to his disappointment, but he must navigate a space with his father yet again along with the Lord-General’s renewed vitriol—he finds not one, but two witches waiting for him.

“I would like an update of your situation,” Kenma calmly requests with hands folded in his lap. His hair is loose with the late hour, falling over his shoulders like a curtain of gold.

“I would like him to be booted out of the country for what he just did,” Koutarou growls. His hackles are still raised, teeth bared, fists clenched tight in the fabric of his long sleep shirt. His hair is down, but his eyes are sharper, despite peering through soft bangs.

Daichi sighs. “Let’s address Koutarou’s concern first.” He’d been unaware Koutarou did not know of Kenma’s promotion. He’d assumed that the King told Koutarou much of his plans, if only to keep him entertained and on his side in these matters. “Kenma, what _happened_ while I’ve been here?”

“It should be as Alisa told you,” Kenma replies and Koutarou makes another angry sound. So that means another thing he hadn’t known.

Daichi is bewildered by this abrupt and jarring change of pace. He has _never_ seen Koutarou without all of the power firmly held in his palm; to see him on the defensive is wrong in the same way a green sky would be wrong.

“The King forfeited a covert witch in order to take away some of your leverage against him,” Kenma says with a steep tilt of his head. His hair falls away like water, and he tucks some behind his ear. Daichi thinks it longer than before. “It is not the first time I have changed appearance in order to please the bond.”

“You _broke_ it!” Koutarou snarls.

The silence left by his outburst is ringing and weighty.

“…What did you break, Kenma?” Daichi asks with a calm he certainly does not feel. The walls suddenly feel as if they are closing in.

“ _I_ didn’t,” he replies with a shrug. “But I would tell you a very interesting history lesson, Daichi.”

“You’re horrible,” Koutarou hisses at him.

“Once, there was a very young witch who found humans to be unbearable company, but other witches more so. A sharp tongue and a lack of desire to hold it create many enemies, even for a witch.” Kenma turns to address the far wall, and smooths more of his bright hair back. Daichi wonders if it is meant to be soothing, but Daichi cannot believe him nervous. “The young witch fled his home in order to save himself. He could not return, and he had no place to run to, with no one powerful enough to save him. So he sought power. He sought someone who could give him asylum.

“And one day, the young witch found someone. Of course, haven does not come without a price. _Nothing_ ever comes without a price. The young witch was desperate, though, and desperation made him _stupid_. He offered his wit, and his tongue, and all of the powers at his command in exchange for safe haven, hidden away from his enemies.”

Kenma only then finds Daichi’s eyes again. Despite the warm color of their sparkling gold, Daichi thinks them cold as ice.

“I was honorbound to protect and serve the ruling power of Amicora in exchange for the ability to remain out of the public eye,” Kenma tells Daichi. “Your father broke that oath. I no longer serve him, or anyone who may or may not wear the crown in the future. It would be wise to remember what your blood has promised witches in future dealings, Your Highness.”

Daichi takes a step back toward the door.

“Tell him what you did,” Koutarou sneers, sounding viciously pleased. “Tell him how you’ve been stupid and desperate _this_ time, little witch.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Kenma snaps.

“Wh-What you did?” Daichi asks, voice cracking high.

“Witches can sense bonds in others. Anyone magical could tell. Kenma would have been found out, but _no_ , the little witch created a different method of hiding—”

“Call me that again and I will do more than cut off your hands.”

“Push me,” Koutarou tells him.

The room is silent again.

Koutarou’s voice dips deeper, rumbling and growling and steadily losing any human touch to it. His eyes blaze, though Daichi cannot tell if it is fury or frenzy that forces each word out. “Push me to do it, little witch. Push me to ruin what you’ve cultivated for yourself. You’re right, I care for him, and you’ve won my silence. So _push me_ , Kenma. Dare me to do it. Let’s see who suffers, then.”

The silence is so heavy Daichi dares not move any further for the door. He wonders if this is how Tetsurou felt before he’d gotten caught in their last fight.

But Kenma breaks it. He looks away, shoulders hunched, head hanging, lip curled in a self-hating scowl.

Koutarou breaks into a grin with a great many sharp teeth, bright white in the dimness of the room.

“Kenma made a new bond in order to hide himself,” Koutarou declares with an air of victory, “one that only those who knew his old bond could compare to. No Setarian witches will figure it out, or any magical humans. And he knows that if I tell the King, then he’ll be put to death for it.”

Koutarou does not care for Kenma; Daichi realizes, with the kind of slow, dawning horror that overcomes someone facing utter despair, who the _he_ must mean. “You’ve bonded yourself to Tetsurou,” he manages to say.

Kenma’s nod is like a guillotine’s blade coming down.

 

—

 

“This is vulgar and unbecoming of a Prince,” Daichi says with poorly restrained glee.

“Come now, you haven’t spent so long in the north that you’ve forgotten how to share a bath, have you?” Tetsurou says. Daichi can hear the leer in his voice.

There is only one bathhouse in all of Vierage with public bathing, and in the style of the Sonorfolk, no less. But trust Tetsurou to hunt it down, and trust Koutarou to demand all the comforts of home. The building is there to offer cleanliness rather than social comfort, but that, too, doesn’t matter in the face of a foreign Prince and a lot of flustered Setarians.

Generals Oikawa had insisted on coming along. Mei bowed out when she realized that public bathing meant mixing between genders, but Tooru steamed onward, despite his growing fluster. (Koushi has spent the entire bath in the farthest possible corner with his back to them. Daichi would think him sulking, if he could think of a reason for him to be.)

 _Is he sulking because Keiji could not come along?_ Daichi wonders. He leans forward a little more, to allow Tetsurou more access to his back.

Koushi refuses to look at the image of his betrothed seated between his advisor’s spread legs. Daichi had nearly gotten his hopes up about possessive behaviors, given their past, but it appears Tetsurou wins this round.

Tooru looks at them between his fingers. “You help _wash_ each other?” he asks. Daichi isn’t certain if he’s delighted or disgusted.

“Don’t pay them much mind, General. They are putting on a show for your benefit. Washing each other is just as intimate an act as it is in any other nation,” Asahi sighs, and kicks absently at Tetsurou’s knee until he stops draping himself all over Daichi. “You two, behave, for once in your lives. This may be a personal break, but we _are_ in polite company.”

“I’ve never been polite in my life,” Tetsurou declares.

“Here, here! Polite company is for the weak-hearted and pansy-willed!” Koutarou cheers. He floats supernaturally high in the water, spreading out all his limbs as far as he can. “I’ve missed bein’ able to stretch in the baths! Generals, why are you so afraid to have a nice bath once in awhile?”

Tooru grimaces, and refuses to make direct eye contact with the very naked witch floating ever closer to him. Koushi delicately nudges him away from their corner.

Yui laughs. She may be skittish around the witches, too, but it’s clear she has been enjoying every moment of this trip. _At least someone is_ , Daichi wryly thinks.

“Kou, can you make the water warmer? I feel like I froze my toes off on the trip here,” Tetsurou says.

Koutarou’s fingers dance across the surface of the water. The temperature noticeably increases, and Tetsurou and Daichi let out matching sighs.

“I may not be able to read your mind,” one of Tooru’s guards say, squatting down beside the edge of the water, “but I know for certain that you’re conspiring to think of a way to ask Iwaizumi how to heat your baths from now on.”

“Mean, Mattsun! We both know he’d just boil me, anyway,” Tooru says with a childish pout Daichi doesn’t believe for a second.

“You’re weird,” Koutarou says with a surprising amount of fondness.

Tooru blinks at him. Yui laughs again. “The things you two must’ve seen here! U-Um, no offense, Generals! But already, I can feel my head swimming from how different the air is here.”

“Wait until you try the food,” Daichi says dryly.

“We all can’t have first impressions as _you_ did,” Koushi mutters.

“Why, what did you end up doing?” Tetsurou asks, utterly oblivious to the way Daichi and Koutarou guiltily tense. “Did you retch into someone’s vase? Insult some heirloom recipe? You can’t have gotten drunk the first night, even I know you’re not that dumb, my lord.”

Koushi is giving Daichi a look from across the bath, and Koutarou is no actor, so Daichi knows this will not hold for long. “Later, alright?”

“His Highness took ill almost immediately,” Tooru cheerily explains. Asahi shoots him a worried look that Daichi ignores. “He was in bed for several days. Gave us all quite the fright!” Tooru levels a pleasant but smug smile at Daichi from his side of the bath. _Go on_ , his smile says, _go on and correct me. Admit there was an assassin I can pin on you again_.

 _We’re supposed to be past this_ , Daichi thinks. “I have met some interesting people here, though. It’s quite amazing the kind of people you can find in Setaria.”

“I think marrying a Setarian General born in the north counts as evidence,” Asahi says, so used to breaking up bickering that Daichi doubts he realizes he’s doing it now. “Um, congratulations, you two. Is that considered proper for a political marriage?”

“They’re happy enough with it. Aren’t you, Suga?” Tooru’s other guard asks from the doorway.

“Is that a nickname? That’s so cute,” Yui says, and means it sincerely, Daichi knows. But Koushi turns red and refuses to acknowledge any of them. “I have to admit, this is… nicer than I was expecting. I know that when it comes down to it, people are just people, but I’m glad Daichi hasn’t been dealing with monsters this entire time.”

Koutarou barks out a laugh.

“No, no, she’s right!” Tetsurou loyally pipes up, nodding too many times. Yui beams at him. “I knew you two weren’t completely horrible, just a _little_ horrible, but stars, that Lord-General still gives me nightmares. If it weren’t for knowin’ Kou was here to entrust Daichi to, I would’ve set off for this blasted place half a day after you.”

Considering Kenma’s feelings on the subject, Daichi privately doubts Tetsurou would have gotten very far. Daichi keeps that to himself, however. He must discuss these things in private later, and decide how to move from there.

He’s still getting used to having his usual support system back in place. The realization makes him giddy.

“I would’ve come with him!” Yui adds with a tiny splash as she wades over to Tetsurou’s side. (Tooru and Koushi avert their eyes.) “Stars above, I was certain I was going grey early, for all of the fretting we did over you! The entire palace was on alert for _weeks_ after you left. We kept waiting for terrible news… His Majesty was beside himself some nights, convinced he had just sent you to your death.”

“He… was very concerned,” Asahi allows.

“We are not all my mother,” Tooru points out. “It’s not as if there were people just waiting to kill His Highness the moment he stepped foot here.”

Tooru suddenly flops underneath the water with a cut-off squawk.

Daichi is rather surprised it hadn’t been any of _his_ people to start the childish antics first.

Tooru comes back up with a gasp, already advancing on Koushi, who is both trying to appear innocent and hastily escape danger—in Daichi’s direction. Tetsurou lets out an awful, gleeful snort of laughter, and all but pushes Daichi off his lap in order to prepare himself for an attack.

“This is a _bath_ , not the beach,” Asahi laments as soon as Tooru lays hands on Koushi. “No— _no_ , Daichi, you will _not_ join them!”

“But—”

“None of you are children!”

“It’s stress relief,” Daichi says, shrugging. “And I already had to wash my hair today.”

“ _I_ didn’t!” Asahi cries in dismay.

Koutarou, as he is wont to do, quickly steals the scene by quite literally stealing most of the water out of the bath. He holds it above their heads in a large bubble. Koushi and Yui stare with open mouths and eyes the size of dinner plates, but the rest of them are either used to Koutarou, or used to witches at least, so it does not lead to as much attention as Koutarou clearly hopes.

He drops the water on everyone with an aggravated huff.

In apology, Daichi ends up washing Koutarou’s hair for him, though why it’s _his_ fault, he has no idea.

Daichi also offers to wash Koushi’s hair, and to his relief, he accepts. Tetsurou and Tooru demand attention away from them, for a little while, allowing Koushi to relax without eyes on him for a few moments. He relaxes against Daichi’s chest, no matter how difficult that makes it for Daichi to help him, but Daichi does not mind. He knows he’s done the same to both Tetsurou and Asahi in the past.

“They’re always so lively,” Daichi says, unsure if he should apologize for his boisterous guards or not. (Yui isn’t even his guard, or his in any sense of it.) It has taken this time apart for Daichi to see what kind of havoc they can cause with a fresh eye.

He’s missed it dearly.

Koushi slits open an eye, regardless of the lather in his starlight hair. Daichi carefully draws the bubbles away from his eyes. “You really care for them, don’t you?” Koushi murmurs.

“Of course I do,” Daichi replies with affection thick in his voice. “It is different from how I care for you, but I love them.”

Koushi tilts his head up to look at him, and Daichi feels his face flame.

“N-Not that I—to you—that is, not that I—I meant to downplay the difference, but… I ought to stop talking, I’m just as bad without those damned cuffs.”

Koushi smiles up at him, and Daichi realizes it is the first time he’s seen the sight since his father’s envoy arrived here. He finds it odd only belatedly.

Daichi smooths more of Koushi’s bubbly hair away from his face. “Are you alright? They did not offend, did they? Or are you still too uncomfortable showing your body—?”

“Don’t overthink this, Your Highness,” Koushi says with equal parts fondness and annoyance. He works his face back into something impassive and relaxed again. Daichi does not believe it this time. “There are a lot of stresses leading up to this wedding, aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Daichi allows.

“…Not to compare myself to them, but do you trust me, Daichi?” Koushi asks. His eyes are downcast, and Daichi studies the delicate fan of his lashes against his cheek.

Daichi thinks he trusts Koushi. But Daichi has learned not to blindly trust anyone anymore. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m… only thinking of the wedding, is all,” Koushi deflects.

 

—

 

“We can’t have gold, it’s a soft metal,” Daichi says with as much patience as he can manage.

It is not much patience. His father insists on arguing, Koushi is not helping, Tetsurou is smothering laughter poorly, and Keiji’s entire _existence_ so close to the King is going to give Daichi heart problems. He is there as Koushi’s attendant, of course, and no one knows who ‘Akaashi’ is. Daichi has not even had the chance yet to explain his stay in Setaria to Asahi or Tetsurou.

But Daichi keeps looking at him, and he’s afraid he’ll start his father’s suspicions soon.

Koushi seems distracted again, his lack of aid a result of that rather than any mean spirit. Daichi _hopes_.

Tetsurou and his father, however, there is no hope for them. They are just the same as Daichi left them.

“The royal line has always used gold for rings,” the King replies. He is stubborn, but not yet angry; his confusion is strong enough to keep that at bay for the moment.

“This is a _union_ , Father. We cannot ignore Koushi’s influence here,” Daichi replies. Koushi jumps to attention at the sound of his name. Daichi has _never_ seen him act like this.

“His influence,” his father repeats thinly.

“It’s symbolic for the marriage itself,” Daichi hastily continues, “and a soft material means a soft marriage. Even if this is an arrangement between our countries, we’d like to keep up appearances, and there is no use wishing misery upon us.”

To Daichi’s dismay, the King turns to address Koushi directly. “These are truly your feelings, General? You wish to reject centuries’ worth of tradition in the home you have been invited?”

Koushi blinks at him; whatever distraction weighs at his mind creates lag in his reaction time, too, and for once, his normally quick tongue is slow.

Keiji’s, however, is not. He steps between King and General, and while his posture remains deferential, it is obvious there is no respect in his words. “Your Majesty, we have drawn up a list of suggestions for the material used in the rings out of respect and a sincere wish to help. If you need help reading this—”

Koutarou appears between Keiji and the King. Keiji does not bat an eye, and Koushi’s startle reflex is delayed.

“Koutarou,” the King says, and thankfully the witch’s presence is enough of a disturbance for Keiji’s tone to be forgotten for the moment. “You are not needed here right now.”

Koutarou leans forward until he’s nearly nose-to-nose with Keiji. “You sure about that, Majesty?”

Keiji’s hands shake at his sides, but he does not cow, not until Koushi pulls him back by the crook of his arm. “We are trying to be respectful, Your Majesty. Daichi has kindly wished to respect both halves of this union to the best of his ability,” Koushi quietly replies.

Daichi does not mind being the shield for them to hide behind. In this case, he welcomes it. “It is _our_ wedding, Father.” _It had been_ my _treaty. This is_ my _peace. This is_ our _future_ , Daichi wishes to add. He holds his tongue.

“What harm is there in it? He’s already bucking half a dozen traditions by marryin’ his enemy, isn’t he?” Tetsurou says. “If they need some gold in the ceremony, then let Kenma stand up there by Daichi’s side. His new hair is gold enough.”

The King glares at him, and Tetsurou grins back, unafraid.

 

—

 

The covert meeting to equalize the information between them goes as well as Daichi expects.

Koutarou and Tetsurou end up with matching broken wrists, Koushi proves he can pin even Asahi, and Kenma attempts to tear out Keiji’s throat with his teeth.

Unfortunately, when fetching Morisuke with blood covering his shirt and hands, Daichi finds his healer not alone in his room. Suguru and Kenji (who _still_ insists on remaining in Morisuke’s quarters despite the fact that he _should_ be with Koushi) are seated upon the bed, and both seem _highly_ amused by all of the blood.

They continue talking in that strange witch language until Koutarou comes in, literally dragging Keiji as poorly as he can manage while satisfying the order to carry him, and _then_ they swiftly shut their mouths and behave.

“You two,” Daichi says, exhaustion weighing on him despite the fact that it is not yet noon, “my chambers, _now_.”

“And you’re just going to dump him here, are you?!” Morisuke exclaims of the unconscious assassin sprawled on his floor.

“Morisuke, please do all you can for him,” Daichi tiredly replies.

Koushi darts in beneath Koutarou’s arm and throws himself at Keiji, pressing his hands down as best he can against the wound. Daichi needs his presence, too, but he knows Kenji despises him and pulling them away from each other would only further the gap this has created. So Daichi turns and leaves Koushi there, tending to the man more important to him.

Suguru stands at attention once they are alone. Kenji appears as polite as expected, but there is a definite slouch to his tall frame and an unattractive scowl on his face.

Daichi takes a moment to massage his temples before dealing with this. Asahi is back on his feet once more, and Kenma never left the room; he sits in the chair at Daichi’s desk, blood slowly drying on his chin. Daichi will deal with _that_ later. He knows Kenma’s attack had come about because Keiji had forcefully disarmed Tetsurou, and Tetsurou’s attack had only been motivated by his temper, so the only protective feelings in the situation had been Tetsurou’s. At least protective toward Daichi.

Maybe he should have warned Koushi and Keiji about Kenma’s new loyalties. They hadn’t gotten that far in the meeting.

“This is Lord Kozume,” Daichi introduces, “the secondary Court Witch of Amicora. Tell me, can you tell what kind of bond he has?”

“I do not have any magic of my own, my lord,” Kenji drawls. Suguru surveys Kenma with a cool, but wary, gaze.

“He is honorbound, just as the Setarian witches are,” Daichi says. “The same one who wishes to kill you. So you understand that even an honorbound witch has sincere motivation to protect and exact his master’s wishes.”

Kenma turns a delicate shade of pink, which makes both his light hair and bloodstained mouth starker.

“Kenma is not honorbound to either myself or my father,” Daichi finishes, wearied already. “Kenma, do you listen to me?”

“As much as will protect my interests and my cover,” Kenma dutifully replies.

“Kenma, if there were a threat to my life specifically, would you intervene?”

“Unlikely, Your Highness.”

Daichi gestures to him as if he has finished a lecture at the Academy. Asahi, pale-faced but silent at the door, refuses to look in Daichi’s direction. Suguru remains contemplative, but Kenji looks openly wary now, like a fox trying to figure out which way to outwit the hound.

Daichi takes care to phrase the next part so it does not immediately out Tetsurou. “Kenma, if someone were to harm or jeopardize my plans and thus the safety of everyone involved, would you intervene?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Kenma replies.

“There you have it, gentlemen. This is the last offer I will make you both. Daishou, you will stay on with my father and act as my spymaster in all matters involving him or matters of the court. Commandant Futakuchi, you will petition to join General Sugawara’s envoy, and we can offer you safety from Setaria.”

“I can get safety on my own, Your Highness. Even from a witch.”

“Once personnel have been integrated into Amicora’s military, I will personally see that you are promoted to General.”

“You will promote me now that the war is over? What pretty, useless words you offer me. Perhaps I don’t care for the word _General_ in a time of peace.”

“…There is to be peace for Setaria, too,” Daichi says, “so the title would not be proven in wartime on either side, Commandant. Also, do not mistake this as an offer of generosity or friendship. It is payment to secure as much loyalty as needed to ensure your behavior within your station and in my trust. If you refuse, then I will feed you to Kenma, whom I can’t reasonably be expected to control.”

“Then don’t use the ‘ _I_ ’ as the subject in that sentence, my lord. It can be easy to trip over, but in order to maintain plausible deniability in such threats, it is best to avoid any direct mention of yourself,” Suguru scolds.

Daichi sighs, hanging his head. That probably means Suguru is in agreement. Daichi has always had more leverage over him, so Kenji has been the wild one. But Suguru, in turn, has leverage over Kenji, to some degree. Things were simpler when loyalty was either to himself or his father.

“I will also need to know the way of finding witches on sight,” Daichi adds.

Suguru glances at Kenma; Kenma glares at Daichi. “This won’t help you.”

“I’m unconvinced.”

“Do you really want _more_ witches in your life, my lord?” Suguru asks.

“Do you know the identity of the third witch in the Amicoran court?”

Suguru blinks at him, looking too perplexed to be for show. “There is no third witch in the Amicoran court, Your Highness.”

“Amicora has _three fucking witches_?” Kenji hisses.

“I only became aware of Kenma after I happened to see him accompanying you. His cover as a page served him rather well to keep him out of the attention,” Suguru says by way of explaining himself. “I only function within the court, my lord. I can guarantee you, there are no other covert witches in the court itself.”

If the third witch is among the palace staff, then Daichi has little chance of happening upon them, no matter how friendly he tries to be. But in hindsight, it makes sense that the could not be part of the court, either. That is too visible, especially with Koutarou around.

“Commandant Futakuchi, I order you to tell me the method of identifying witches on sight. I also _strongly_ encourage you to accept my offer, as I will be in need of higher officers with experience after the blood reparations, and it is never a bad time to ingratiate yourself to a Prince.”

“Is Lord Kozume going to kill me if I tell you this?” Kenji asks.

“I’m not the one who cares,” Kenma mutters. “Koutarou will be mad, but he’s mad at everything, isn’t he? But I’m telling you, my lord, this won’t help you.”

“Kenma, do not harm Commandant Futakuchi.”

Kenma shrugs. Daichi is prepared to get Koutarou in here, if necessary, despite the risks. Kenji could be a valuable ally, especially if he remains away from any Setarian witches who could seal his secrets.

“Very well. I happen to like being alive, and I happened to make a promise to an old friend that I would become more powerful than he, so I accept.”

“I’m the personal advisor to the _King_ ,” Suguru mutters.

“In Setaria, advisors have the equivalent rank of Captain,” Kenji replies with unbridled glee. “Tell me, Suguru, what is it like in Amicora?”

“You pompous—”

Daichi clears his throat. Kenma idly twirls a lock of his loose hair around his finger, but his eyes are hard and unwavering on Kenji. “The method, if you’d please, Commandant.”

Kenji pouts, just a little, at the interrupted argument. Then, he gestures to his face. “The eyes, Your Highness. Anyone with enough time spent with witches ought to notice.”

“The… eyes?” Daichi replies, nonplussed. True, Kenma and Koutarou share a remarkable eye color, but they are not exactly the same, and others share it as well. Hajime has green eyes, anyway.

Kenji’s expression grows flatter in impolite disbelief. “Lord Witch, if you’d please?”

“I’d rather not,” Kenma says.

“They _glow_ , Your Highness. It can be difficult to tell during the day, or if they aren’t directly looking at you. It’s subtle, but if you know what to look for, it’s unmistakable.”

Daichi is struck cold with all of the memories of Kenma hiding his face or averting his eyes. Even now, when Daichi faces him, Kenma looks away. He has always been aware of their unusual expressiveness and sharp features, but…

“They also reflect light. Remember when we’d have festivals and it would look like a bunch of deer around the bonfire?” Kenji asks, and Suguru nods with a pained sort of smile. “I wouldn’t recommend going around staring at their faces, however, since they seem to exert some sort of control with direct eye contact, too.”

“Akin to hypnosis, but at a lighter level,” Suguru adds, grimacing at even sharing that much. “It has always shocked me how close you allow Lord Bokuto, Your Highness. If I were not aware that His Majesty were unaware of this, I’d think him a sadist for allowing you to remain in his company to such a degree.”

“It’s really just that?” Daichi asks faintly. He’s supposed to stare at everyone in the palace until he happens upon this third witch? He could already _know_ him, and be unaware.

“It’s just that,” Kenji confirms. “I will take my promotion now, Your Highness.”

 

—

 

Wedding preparations continue smoothly with the King taking the brunt of the planning—and arguing with the Lord-General. Daichi and Koushi slip away when they can. They still must take an active part, but with the egos of heads of state involved, the burdens on their shoulders are considerably lessened. At this point in the process, Daichi and Koushi are largely only used for opinions on minor details.

The date is set. Invitations are sent. Fittings are underway, the rings and coronets have been commissioned, and Daichi had nearly laughed himself silly when Koutarou asked if Keiji were going to be the official portrait artist. (Koushi had just smiled tiredly. Keiji had not reacted.)

Setaria has not had a royal wedding in some time. Daichi listens, sometimes, to the Lord-General’s addresses to the public. She handles it masterfully, of course. The public is overwhelmingly happy about the prospect of peace at last. She politely deflects any inquiries about when Tooru will be wed, or about the loss of Koushi when he is moved to Amicora. Koushi avoids public functions as much as is proper. Daichi ducks out of just as many in a show of solidarity.

Suguru takes his place at the King’s side once more. Koutarou has orders to keep an eye on him as much as possible, but Daichi is not certain where his trust lies with him, either. Perhaps they will keep each other on good behavior and Daichi will not have to worry.

“What’s wrong?” is the last thing Daichi says to Koushi each night, whether it is in bed or leaving for separate rooms.

Koushi has yet to satisfy Daichi’s growing concern.

“I worry over you,” Daichi says, smoothing Koushi’s hair back from his forehead. He cups his face in his hands, and Koushi smiles up at him, but there is exhaustion on his face and something dark in his eyes. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. I can help you. Let me help you.”

They have won the petition to have Koushi officially inherit Commandant Futakuchi. Keiji has not been discovered, and aside from _strict_ orders to avoid any and all contact with Kenma (or Tetsurou), and aside from a fresh set of bandages, he is fine. He is not discovered. Despite their displeasure, both Asahi and Tetsurou have agreed to let the matter of the assassin lie.

Whatever plagues Koushi now, it is nothing Daichi has dealt with thus far.

“Do you trust me?” Koushi asks with tears in his eyes and a week until the wedding.

Daichi should not.

Daichi _does_ not, if it comes to something large enough to unnerve Koushi to this degree.

Yet he wants to. And he is not wearing the truth-telling cuffs. “Yes,” he replies.

Koushi reaches upward to frame Daichi’s face in his own hands, and he tugs him down for a sweet, decisive kiss.

Daichi does not know what he has agreed to. He dreads finding out.

 

—

 

State officials, nobility, celebrities—Vierage is thick with foreigners, and it would be funny to watch their (old) enemies quail at so much culture shock if Daichi were not going through the very same thing. Many of these people he has only met through letters, or glimpsed through reports, or history books, or rumor. Due to the war, it has been a long time since Amicora has hosted such lavish, worldwide affairs; only their closest allies have been welcomed to balls and ceremonies for most of Daichi’s life.

For propriety, a lack of desire to show favoritism, and, Daichi suspects, simply due to the Lord-General’s own growing frustrations, no visiting officials (no matter their rank) are allowed to quarter in the state building already housing the Council and Amicoran envoy. (The King has confessed his gladness for this as well, far away from the Lord-General’s ears.)

Still, _some_ things Daichi would like to be closer to.

“That’s a _gryphon_!” he exclaims in a hushed, awed voice, mouth hidden behind his hands so he does not embarrass himself further.

“Please don’t do anything we’ll regret as a nation,” Asahi dryly advises.

“That’s a gryphon, Asahi! I’ve never seen one myself!”

“Me neither,” Tetsurou loyally adds.

“Captain would be jealous,” Asahi says.

“To hell with the horse, I want—”

Asahi grabs both of them by the backs of their coats before they can approach the envoy from Priava with undue enthusiasm.

Koutarou and Kenma are hidden away again, ordered to stay within the confines of the state building, something Koutarou has complained to no end of. Daichi would feel bad, if he weren’t subject to hosting dinner parties and small-scale banquets every night leading up to the wedding from various heads of nations. The only one he has enjoyed thus far was meeting the Prince and Princess of Canuste. Koushi had been a charming shade of pink for the entire evening.

A trio of merchant guild leaders from Mun Tarik, the Consulate pair of Priava plus a handful of senators, the Empress of Karrosh, Council members from the Elcelon isles, the Queen of the Sonorfolk, members of courts and nobility from lands Daichi isn’t certain he’s ever _heard_ of, opera singers and playwrights and historians and artists and war heroes—and a pair of unusually homely people with long, wild hair and gleaming eyes.

Daichi thanks them for coming most cautiously of all.

Two days before the wedding, Koushi wakes him with kisses and asks him to have tea with him that afternoon, despite the fact that they must move a brunch with a Duchess to do so.

Daichi does it without hesitation; he cannot remember who the Duchess is, anyway.

Koushi watches him like a hawk watches a young rabbit as they sip at their tea in the courtyard. Daichi is bundled up for the weather, and Koushi is in his usual casual manner of dress. With all of the important people to meet and appearances to put up, he has been more uptight about his uniform than usual on the Lord-General’s orders, so it is nice to see him comfortable for the moment.

“I’ve asked Koutarou for a favor,” Koushi admits, setting down his cup.

“Is it faking another death?” Daichi asks as lightly as he can manage.

“No. You’ll be pleased to know it doesn’t involve Keiji directly at all.”

“Directly?”

“Keiji is also helping me. …Keiji is always helping me,” Koushi tells him.

Daichi raises both brows, sips at his tea, and waits Koushi out. Though he is impatient, he holds his tongue, not wishing to say anything in frustration that could scare Koushi away from sharing whatever has been weighing on his mind as of late.

“We must move the wedding,” Koushi boldly announces.

“…Koushi, it is the day after tomorrow,” Daichi replies. Even with the help of a witch and an assassin, Daichi does not understand how it could be feasible, much less something the usually-rational Koushi would consider. “The Lord-General would have your _hide_ , Koushi. Please tell me you do not have some ploy to delay the wedding.”

Koushi guiltily averts his eyes.

“General Sugawara,” Daichi says and it stings even him to say it, “do you mean to tell me you have been plotting a delay to the only part of the damned treaty both countries can agree on? I will not agree to this, but I _must_ know your reasons now. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Only a day,” Koushi says, as if this is meant to be a comfort. He reaches across the small table to cover Daichi’s hand in his. His skin is cold, but warmer than the chilly day. “Just one day. The guests will not be unduly inconvenienced, and I’m sure Lord-General Oikawa’s silver tongue will save us any trouble.”

“Koushi, _please_ ,” Daichi very nearly begs. “I can’t go along with this if you do not tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m trying to help you.” Koushi’s hand tightens on his, and his expression betrays his frustration. “I… cannot speak of some things. You know this. But I am going to try.”

 _Some of it expires after the wedding?_ Daichi realizes, breath catching in his throat. By then, it would be difficult—impossible—to rescind the vows, much less the treaty. But it is certain to make Daichi’s life hell, if Koushi were so worried. “They would never push back the ceremony,” Daichi croaks.

He is not certain his difficulty breathing is from shock.

Koushi’s face is impassive, but his hand does not leave Daichi’s. “They would if the Prince were to suddenly fall ill.”

 

—

 

It is not like before. His breathing is labored, voice hoarse, throat swollen, and body feverish, but Daichi does not lose time as he did when Keiji poisoned him. Daichi is _aware_. He listens, panting and coughing and bleary, as Koushi throws on the act of the distressed fiancé.

Mei does not fall for his ploys, but with a clearly ill Prince before her, she has little choice but to listen to Koushi’s overacted fretting.

Healers are sent for, assassins are implied. Daichi’s father arrives with the panic of a parent who has already lost a spouse. Asahi is beside himself, but Tetsurou is suspicious of Koushi. Morisuke checks Daichi over with his mouth a tight, grim line.

“It should pass quickly,” he announces.

“Daichi has never taken ill like this before,” the King says, then begins a round of coughing of his own, brought on by his worry.

Daichi wishes to reach for him, but he cannot stop shivering, much less raise an arm. _Koushi did this_ , he thinks, on a loop in his brain. _Koushi did this._ His father is going to hurt himself in his worry. If Amicora finds out about the first assassination attempt—

The King takes Koutarou’s lack of interest as a sign of no ill intent toward Daichi.

Daichi sweats out his fever over the course of a night surrounded by concerned friends and family.

Koushi is absent. So is Koutarou.

The wedding is pushed back one day, then two, before world leaders begin grumbling.

“The Lord-General must be shitting herself,” Morisuke sleepily confesses in the dark hours of the morning. “This was some wedding present to you, Highness. _What_ were you thinking this time…?”

“Koushi,” Daichi rasps.

“I don’t know where he is, my lord. I have not seen him since he first called for me.”

Tetsurou jerks awake in the chair by the door, roused by their talking. Morisuke dismisses him with a wave, and tries to force Daichi to drink more water colored with charcoal.

Daichi is up and on his feet by noon, able to stomach soup and light foods, and he is _livid_ for reasons he cannot share with anyone. He will not turn Tetsurou’s temper or Asahi’s panic toward Koushi until he understands what Koushi meant to do. The wedding successfully is moved; what waits to be seen is the next step in Koushi’s plan.

He receives many inquiries about his health, and Daichi does his best to remain neutral and recovering. At least he has practice feigning illness.

It is the middle of the night, the very night before the ceremony, when Daichi is shaken awake with a hand clapped over his mouth. He recognizes Koushi’s pale hair even in the darkness. He bites down on the fingers presented to him, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make Koushi wince.

“Come with me.”

To Daichi’s surprise and relief, Koutarou meets them at the door. Daichi and Koushi are dressed for travel, and with Koutarou on their heels, they leave the ex-palace and make their way into the dark streets of Vierage. It is late enough that even taverns and brothels have quieted, though it is not so silent that Daichi feels they are alone.

Koushi leads him to a small inn and Koutarou carries them in through an open window on the topmost floor.

Inside, Keiji stands guard beside the only lit lantern and a prettily lacquered box. Daichi does not have long to wonder why he feels such reflexive fear at the sight of it; it opens to reveal the set of Setarian truth-telling cuffs nestled inside.

Daichi is about to ask, when Koutarou pulls out their own set from within his cloak.

“ _What_ is going on here?!” Daichi demands with what he feels is a fair amount of righteous fury. “I demand answers before this farce continues!”

“I am glad to see your health has returned with your temper,” Keiji mildly says.

“I have been poisoned,” Daichi grinds out, “for the second time on my trip to a summit for peace. I have been used, and lied to, and betrayed, and manipulated. My patience wears _thin_.”

Koushi rolls up his sleeves and puts on the cuffs, and glances nervously back and forth between Daichi and Koutarou until Koutarou offers theirs. “C’mon, Daichi, ya _said_ you wanted answers. How else d’you think you’re gonna get top secret information out from beneath the Lord-General’s nose?”

“I have been under constant watch by Koutarou,” Koushi says. He does not look at Daichi, and instead busies himself with the cuffs on his wrists. “Koutarou, can you attest that these are active?”

“Yes, they are! Come, Daichi, your turn.”

“Why must _I_ wear them? Surely there is nothing else you can wring from me.”

“I’m sorry,” Koushi says at last. “Is that what you were hunting for?”

“You _poisoned_ me, Koushi!”

“You are untouchable by that woman and her witch. I am not. I’ve been under constant watch by Koutarou in order to keep Hajime away, and we could not break for a _moment_. Many magics ended when the wedding was scheduled to be.” Koushi still appears regretful, but most of his frame radiates stubborn determination. “We have given you a window in which to act, Daichi.”

“Act how?”

“You can reveal me for who I am, call off the wedding, and use me as leverage against the Lord-General in order to fight against the reparations,” Koushi tells him.

After putting on his own pair of cuffs, and allowing Koutarou to fret over their fit, Daichi folds his arms across his chest. He does not respond.

“I do not like spicy food,” Koushi says, and is yanked to the floor.

“You didn’t have to prove yourself to me,” Daichi says—and joins him on the dusty, hard floor. His face feels hot, with shame and anger, and he is too proud to retract his lie. Koutarou gently undoes the charm and hauls him back upright.

“We’re gonna wait outside, and make sure no one can get in. Iwaizumi won’t cause a scene, even if we are off official grounds,” he says, gently, and with a single stroke of his finger along Daichi’s cheek, he’s gone again.

“I would like to state, aloud, for the benefit of our company tonight—” Keiji begins but Koushi aims a kick at him from where he’s still pressed to the floor.

“Keiji, _don’t_. And I do like spicy foods.” Koushi sits up, and for good measure, tries to kick him again. Keiji easily steps out of the way.

“—if you attempt to harm Koushi directly tonight outside of vowing to slander his name tomorrow in public, I will do everything within my power to stop you,” Keiji finishes with words like daggers.

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves out the door. His footsteps do not go far.

“…Should you decide to act against me, then Keiji and I are leaving tonight. We will be hunted by the Setarian government and your own,” Koushi explains with a lingering look at the shut door. “My heart will not shatter, but it would be a disappointment, and a difficult escape. But I’m confident we could. I even think Koutarou might help. He was very keen on helping us tonight.”

“No I wasn’t!” comes a shout from outside.

“Koutarou, leave us a bit more privacy,” Daichi orders. He takes a deep breath that does little to soothe his anger, but it allows him to stop himself from immediately snapping at his betrothed. “Talk, Koushi. Honestly, and fully.”

“As fully as I can manage,” Koushi replies with a tight smile. “Not everything is gone. But I will tell you enough.”

They are both still seated on the floor, still lit by the single lantern, and Daichi’s body still aches from the leftover effects of the poison Koushi used on him. For all of their highs and lows with each other, Daichi likes this one perhaps the least.

Koushi takes a steeling breath of his own.

“I am not a General of the Setarian military,” he says, and he remains upright with the cuffs on his wrists.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: It's Koushi's turn.


	31. connected by blood or marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The candle is low and the sky is pink with dawn light when Koushi finishes.
> 
> They’re set to be married today.

Koushi, at five years of age with snow in the fur of his coat and eyes that shine like copper, is still young enough to be filled with wonder at the sight of all of the traders and foreign merchants in the business district of Mychanok. Men and women with hair the color of warm dirt, eyes the color of the sky, with clothing the color of soft grasses and wearing skins of animals Koushi has no word for yet. He _loves_ them.

“Come along now,” his mother says with exasperated fondness, and tugs him along by their connected hands.

Koushi wishes he could wriggle out of his mittens in order to investigate the man with the magical voice and colorful bird, but his mother is wise to his ways.

“Koushi, _come_. It is only magic.”

She always says that. Koushi, at five years of age with features still well-fed and round and skills of flattery beyond his years, tells his mother, “You cannot say that! Papa was magic. You cannot say it is _only_ magic when you fell in love with him!”

“I did not love your father,” his mother replies with a roll of her eyes and another tug on his arm. “But it is _because_ I knew him that I know magic is only magic. It is not cause for the stars in your eyes or the size of your smile, _orokva_.”

With that, she pulls him up into her arms and rubs their cheeks together until he giggles and forgets about the day’s pick of distracting merchants.

“Magic does not fix your life, Koushi. Remember that always. What matters is that you do your best, work very hard, and know what to believe in. Do not believe in magic,” his mother tells him.

Koushi, at five years of age with utter and sincere belief in all that his mother says, nods solemnly, though he is unhappy about it.

“Good, good, now we must go to Miss Yahaba’s house to make sure we have work today.”

 

—

 

When his mother dies, no one is left to call him _orokva_ anymore.

Sunshine. It stands for warmth, and life, and brightness.

The sky is fat with wet clouds on the day when Koushi is found by the foreign merchants from the business district. He is eight, and terrified, and alone for the first time in his life. He fights back and sheds blood and hisses like a feral cat, but all it does is earn him a slap across the face and dirty cloth stuffed into his mouth.

He is sold for a price that would have made his mother weep with joy.

Koushi weeps now, from fear and heartbreak and dread.

The man who buys him waits until they are alone in an inn in the foreign quarter before untying Koushi’s thin wrists and removing the gag from his mouth. Despite the temperatures, Koushi has never been good at keeping in his tears, so his cheeks are red and raw with cold. He sniffles and wipes his face until he can feel it again, but Koushi knows how the wealthy people speak and look down upon people like him, so he does not speak until addressed.

“You are mine now,” the stranger tells him.

Koushi breaks into fresh tears, utterly silent.

“I am going to keep you safe. I will dress you and feed you and teach you. You are to become my apprentice. That is not so scary, is it?” the man asks.

His voice is thick with an accent Koushi does not understand; Koushi had learned very little Continental, as his mother had not wished to encourage his awe of traders.

“What is your name?” the man asks and helps Koushi to wipe away his tears.

“Koushi,” he replies.

“And your family’s name?”

“…Sugawara.” It had been his mother’s name. The old ladies they washed for would sometimes remark upon this; Koushi knows it is not always a good thing, to just have his mother’s name.

“Kouchi,” the man says and Koushi cannot help the wrinkle of his nose. “Kou… chi?”

“Koushi,” he repeats.

“Kouchi.”

“ _Koushi_.”

The man does not understand how to say his name, and this upsets Koushi more than anything else today, which is foolish and silly and childish of him, which only serves to upset him further. “Kou,” the man eventually settles on, as if desperate to stem Koushi’s continued tears and growing frustration.

It does not fix anything. It only changes things.

Kou becomes his new name.

The man called Miya with the strange tongue and stranger hair becomes his new master.

 

—

 

Koushi had never slept easily as a child; now, he is asleep by the time his head hits his pillow, having known true exhaustion. He is worked to the bone every day, training harder and harder and _harder_ until his feet cannot hold him and his hands are raw.

“You must become stronger,” his master tells him, “you must become _faster_.” There are a lot of things Koushi must become now. He tries, he really does, and at least Miya doesn’t beat him. He yells, a lot. Worse, however, are his silences. They’re colder than any winter in Canuste had been.

Koushi misses his northern home, for a time. (Mostly, he misses his mother.) Heat does not agree with him, something that had dismayed his master at first, but there are plenty of places to travel where it is cold. And Koushi can stand the cold better than anyone else he knows in their strange organization.

There aren’t many children, and most are older than him, though not all. Many of them wear bruises not from training. Koushi notices, too, that most of them have masters far older than Miya, and that neither of them are looked upon with much affection.

But sometimes, Miya ruffles his hair when Koushi has done something well, or he’ll bring Koushi extra food for no reason. Koushi is always dressed well, and he is taught to speak and read Continental, then other languages. He doesn’t know how many his master speaks, but every time they end up somewhere new, he always has things to say. Koushi marvels at his talents.

He marvels more at all of the new places he gets to see.

Now, it is not just foreign traders to swoon over, but entire markets and countries he never could have dreamed of. Koushi learns about new foods, new animals, new plants. There are people who come in every shape, and size, and color. Wonders he never could have imagined, living in his cold home, washing clothes with his mother.

(He misses her less every day.)

They’re in Karrosh, he thinks—Koushi always asks where they are, but he never quite understands the answer—when Miya speaks with _his_ masters and gets into an argument. Koushi tries his best to eavesdrop, since he’s been trained harder and harder on keeping quiet and learning the value of information, but he cannot make sense of anything.

That night, after a dinner in which Miya yet again gives him extra food, Koushi and his master are ordered to report to a large, nondescript building that seems to be some sort of storehouse. Koushi studies it, trying to pick out exits as he’s been taught.

_A test_ , one of the old men who’d argued with Miya had said. _You need to make sure he’s worth wasting your time._ They’d called both of them useless, and Koushi knows he is _not_ useless. He is nine and he has already learned much from his master.

There is a woman, bound and gagged, on the dirty storehouse floor. The kohl around her eyes has been ruined by her tears.

Koushi is handed a knife the size of what he sees the adults use.

“Kill her,” Miya says.

It takes an hour, and Koushi vomits up his dinner with the extra serving, and he fears he may never wash the blood off his hands again.

But Miya ruffles his hair when he is done, and tells him he did well.

 

—

 

Killing people gets easier. Koushi’s memories of his mother and homeland fade. He is still called on his fair skin and pale hair, but Miya also gets called things like _fox_ and _murderer_ and _bloodless_ , so Koushi can handle a few comparisons to snow.

“Don’t underestimate the power of words,” his master advises. “Words have meaning, and it’s best if you don’t let them hurt you, but it’s not wise to ignore them, either. …Don’t let anyone call you snowman anymore, Kou.”

“Why not?” He used to build snowmen when he was done making beds and scrubbing sheets.

Miya just laughs a little, and ruffles his hair, though Koushi doesn’t understand why. “We should see about dyeing this hair of yours. We’re heading south again soon, and you are about as invisible as a merman in the desert.”

They try to color Koushi’s hair with everything—ink and kohl and charcoal and magical mixtures. Few stick for more than a few weeks, and afterward, he ends up looking like a skunk instead. (Koushi had not enjoyed being introduced to that animal.) Miya laughs at him, even though it’s _his_ fault.

It’s better to pull on hats and hoods and helmets. In some places, people from all over the world mingle, and then Koushi does not need to hide. In other places, more secretive or strict or lofty, everyone looks the same, and both Koushi and his master tread carefully.

Koushi learns more skills wherever they go. He trains as his master orders. He learns different ways to kill, to threaten, and to cripple. He gradually forgets Canus, and sharpens his tongue on more common languages. He learns every type of knife. He learns the art of silent killing, and knows how to make a scene to hide within. Koushi learns the value of his youth when it comes to fooling adults; Miya takes particular pride in how Koushi learns to bat his eyes and coo his way in and out of situations.

Koushi is twelve when he meets his master’s twin brother.

To Miya’s absolute dismay and his brother’s utter delight, Koushi does not confuse them. He knows at once that the man who approaches him, calling him Kou with so much affection, is not his master.

“Who are you?” Koushi asks, as politely as he can, because the others in the guild are still his elders and the last time he forgot to watch his mouth two of his fingers had been broken.

“Tsumu,” the man replies. “Kou, come on, it’s me.”

Koushi is going to be polite, but he is also going to grab his knife soon, because disguises usually mean treachery. “I don’t know who that is.”

The man sighs, and relents, and leans out of Koushi’s space. “Atsumu, you bastard. He doesn’t even know your _name_?”

His master ducks his head through the doorway with a scowl. “You are a terrible actor, you know.”

The fact that his master has always gone by a family name has mattered as little as his own name being shortened; it is something Koushi has just _dealt with_ for the past four years. He figures he probably shouldn’t kill his master’s brother, however, so he puts his knife away again.

His master’s brother laughs, kind of tiredly. He looks pretty tired all over, actually. Another reason Koushi didn’t believe his ruse: his master (Atsumu, now, but Koushi does not dare voice it himself) always takes great care in appearing alert and in control. Appearances matter, after all.

“How old is this brat now, huh? Does he even come up to your shoulder?”

“You have to get them young!”

“The masters never should have let you get an apprentice. You’re not even thirty.”

“I’m doing well, aren’t I? Kou’s almost old enough to get a job or two himself, I’d bet.”

Koushi watches them with wide eyes and open ears. It’s so rare for his master to talk about himself, or so casually; Koushi has met very few people he’d guess were his friends, much less any family.

Suddenly, without warning, Koushi is struck by a pang of missing his mother. It has been a long time since he’s missed her, and another thing he’s unused to—guilt, his master always says he should _never_ feel guilty—hits him just as abruptly.

“I’ve heard tell that you’re aiming for something big,” his master’s brother says.

Koushi, despite his age, despite his comparative inexperience, and despite the sudden pain in his heart, knows when a man is feigning nonchalance. Miya ruffles his hair, a little harder than usual, and tries to push Koushi away. But without a proper dismissal, he stands his ground. (His master has often called him stubborn.)

“It’s been awhile since I’ve annoyed the masters by doing what they’re too scared to do,” Miya replies with a smirk as sharp as the knife Koushi carries.

“This is suicide. There is a _reason_ why the guild has refused to do this.”

“I’ve accomplished the impossible before, brother dear. If you know what’s good for you, I’d suggest you stay out of our way. Come along, Kou.” This time, it is not a suggestion, and Koushi ducks away from his master’s brother and trots along obediently behind his master.

As a reward for not asking about anything he shouldn’t, Miya teaches Koushi how to hide special knives up his sleeves without cutting himself when he draws them out again.

 

—

 

Koushi is thirteen when everything goes to hell.

Miya accepts some important job, something that has the guild’s disdain on them heavier than ever. Koushi ignores them to the best of his abilities. He is more experienced than any other boy his age, and his master is accomplished and skilled. Anyone who looks down upon them is wrong.

They haven’t yet gotten to the capital when it happens: Koushi’s horse stumbles on a rocky bit of an old trail and, in the process of falling, Koushi’s leg is broken.

His master is _furious_. Koushi has never seen him so angry, not when he was arguing with the guild leaders, not when he was fighting tooth and nail against rivals, not even when he was _killing_. A lame assassin is not a working assassin, and they have a lot riding on this. Koushi is a liability, two days out from the nearest town, and not yet inside the border.

Miya kills the horse that had done this.

For a terrifying moment, as Koushi stares up at his master, silhouetted by the full southern moon and splattered with fresh blood, Koushi fears that he is next.

That night marks a shift in their relationship.

Koushi is stowed in an inn and they pay off the healer. His master sends for his brother’s help, even if it delays the mission, and Koushi spends the rest of the job away from anyone he knows and in constant fear.

Despite killing people himself, despite getting into fights in training, despite being used as bait and a decoy more times than he can count, this is the first time in many years that Koushi has genuinely feared for his life—and from his own master, the man he trusts to take care of him and train him and guide his future.

Koushi’s leg heals with the help of magic and time. His master completes his job and gains all of the money and fame he could have ever wished for. Koushi’s lack of participation is never reported, since Miya is too eager to save face and crow about his apprentice’s worth.

Gone are the extra rations and affectionate hair ruffles. Gone is any fondness in their relationship. Koushi is hit like any other misbehaving child, and lessons now come in quantities of pain. A missed shot with a bow is a cut on the inside of his forearm that he must learn to stem. A stab wound off mark is another broken finger. A missed shot with a rifle is a flogging.

Koushi’s hands shake so badly when he holds a rifle that he loses whatever talent he had to start with. Miya’s only mercy is giving up on turning him into a marksman.

Koushi grows, and he learns. He fears. He is sent to kill anyone Miya does not deign to, and credit is given to his master, though Koushi should not yet be old enough to take jobs on his own. He doesn’t complain. At least on his own, he learns to pocket a small share of coin.

He doesn’t have any real goal with his own money. But it gives him a small sense of power in the situation.

 

—

 

The final blow to their relationship is when Miya discovers Koushi’s own purse of coins and weapons.

It is not against the rules for an assassin to have either, even apprentices. But Miya had not allowed it, and this is nearly inexcusable as anything else. Every mistake of Koushi’s had been personal insult to his master; this crosses the line entirely.

But it is not an assassin’s end. Miya does not attack Koushi, and there is no blood shed between them.

Miya instead throws Koushi away.

For the second time in his life, Koushi is sold.

This time, he is on the market in Mun Tarik, a country owned by coin and merchant kings. His price is steep and admirable. Again, Koushi weeps. He doesn’t know whether his skills in killing are mentioned, but he is not bought as a mercenary or bodyguard or slave or, again, an assassin. He is not bought to kill.

He is bought by a brothel at the age of fifteen.

He used to laugh, nervous and ashamed and so young, when Miya had offered him women, or men, or anyone. Koushi’s whole life has revolved around honing his skills and pleasing his master. All he knew of love or sex was through outside sources: songs, or plays, or standing guard for his master at brothels, or hoping to catch a target in a vulnerable moment. All he knows is that sex is messy and it leaves people weak.

But Koushi is not mistreated or used; he is given food, and the most thorough bath he’s ever had. The mistress of the house turns his head this way and that, cooing and fussing, rubbing her thumb over the mark on his cheek as if it might come off.

“A snowman,” she says, and Koushi only belatedly realizes he’s supposed to hate that word. “You’ll fetch-a pretty price, once y’know how. Your hair is so lovely, and your features are so fair. We’ll have to make sure you don’t get too much-a sun.”

They can pronounce his name here. He is once again Koushi.

He does not have to stain his hands with blood anymore.

 

—

 

Koushi knows how to count coin, and that turns out to be his saving grace. He’s pretty, and young, and a dedicated student when he has the proper motivation. But, not two months into this change in his life, he catches a mistake in the ledgers by accident—a shortage of coin. There is no greater insult in this country.

The whore in question has her hands broken and she’s tossed out onto the street. Koushi is given the new task of maintaining the books, in addition to learning how to please customers.

Sex _is_ messy and makes people weak, but Koushi is good at taking advantage of weakness. He earns a lot. He’s allowed to keep a share for himself.

The best part is that he doesn’t have to kill anyone, nor clean up bodies.

So he thinks, until he meets Keiji when Keiji comes down the stairs in the darkest part of the early morning and flatly announces, “I need your help getting rid of a corpse.”

Koushi is, at first, too shocked to respond.

Keiji tilts his head to the side. His curls are lank with sweat and exhaustion bruises the skin beneath his eyes. Koushi notices there is no blood on any part of him.

“Why me?” Koushi ends up asking.

“You’re not scared of the dead. I can pay you.” With that, he turns on his heel and leaves back the way he came.

Koushi follows him.

He finds a dead client sprawled across one of the better beds, face mashed in and a dented and bloodied metal candlestick lying on the desk in the corner. Koushi also finds a weepy woman in the corner, unashamed of her nudity but trying desperately to hide the way her lip is bloody and bruised. He thinks her name is Kaori.

“How did you keep the blood off yourself?” Koushi asks as he looks over the man. The bedding will have to be thrown out with the body, which is the true pity in the situation; nice bedding is expensive here, and not even Koushi wants to try scrubbing out the kind of mess a corpse leaves.

“He has been hitting her,” Keiji explains instead of answering. Kaori sniffles and nods. Koushi wonders how much this has been rehearsed ahead of time. “I was defending her.”

“I don’t care,” Koushi says.

“That’s why I asked you for help,” Keiji says, and this time, he smiles, just a little.

 

—

 

Koushi teaches Keiji cleaner ways to kill. Shit and piss are a pain to clean up, but at least blood is avoidable. _Everything_ is avoidable if they wait until the customer has dressed again and if Keiji doesn’t waste time fetching Koushi, but Keiji has yet to learn that last rule.

In Mun Tarik, murder is still murder, but coin still rules highest of all. Koushi is skilled in disposing of bodies, and he’s vindictively pleased that _he’s_ not the one leaving them for once. He likes not killing. He’d even say he likes sex, now that he’s gotten good at it.

Their brothel has gained a reputation for a higher standard than what their location in the city would suggest. That gains attention, and attention means more clients. Koushi keeps the books in the black, even when he must begin a budget for paying off the city guard.

With guaranteed protection, their workers are happier, and happier whores means a happier time all around. More business means they can become choosier, and with standards higher than ever, they gain a reputation of class. Rich folk pay even more for prostitutes.

Koushi thinks they may have stumbled onto something good here.

Koushi still keeps daggers under his pillow, but now he doesn’t have to hide his own purse, too.

But he doesn’t kill, leaving it to Keiji or even occasionally others, until one day it is _Keiji_ who stumbles in with a too-drunk patron hanging off him. This is not unusual. Keiji gladly deals with rougher clients day in and day out, and everyone is accustomed to drunkards so long as their money is good.

But the pleading look Keiji sends him _is_ new.

Koushi is now able to afford more than one set of daggers, and he has never been able to rid himself of the habit of hiding them up his sleeves.

This time, Keiji helps _him_ dispose of the corpse. “You’re very pretty when you kill,” is all he says, and doesn’t ask any further about Koushi’s past, just like how Koushi has never asked about his.

“I’d rather fuck than kill any day,” Koushi replies, with a smile, but also with a voice of iron.

“Teach me.”

“I _have_ been teaching you.”

“Teach me now to do it like you do it,” Keiji says. “Teach me how to fight, and how not to fear death like you don’t. Teach me how to use the different lengths of blades. Teach me how it is you kill so well. Teach me the art of it.”

Koushi doesn’t know why he agrees.

 

—

 

“When you asked me to teach you the _art_ of killing, was that a stab at humor?” Koushi asks by way of announcing himself. As predicted, Keiji jumps at the abruptness.

Keiji spares him a halfhearted glare over his shoulder. An old book is spread in his lap, with drawings in all manner of mediums spread across the pages. “And was your use of _stab_ as a verb _your_ attempt at humor?” he returns.

“You’re very good,” Koushi tells him.

Keiji returns to his ruined book. Koushi can’t read any of it for all of the sketches and linework. “It doesn’t matter, does it? It helps to steady my hands, and it’s a pleasant mean to pass the time that isn’t some sort of fucking.”

“Fucking can be fun.”

“If you like it.”

“We could afford you proper paper, proper books. You didn’t have to deface anything you found,” Koushi points out, as mildly as he can, though he knows Keiji seemingly never takes offense to anything short of hitting prostitutes.

“There are better uses for money. It’s not as if this,” Keiji lifts the ruined book, “was getting any use at a whorehouse. Most of us can’t read.”

More and more, as odd as it may be from an outside perspective, Koushi realizes the privileges he has been afforded in his mishmash of a life. He may not have had freedom, but he’s had education, and food, and shelter, and training in both of the world’s oldest professions. That’s more than a lot of people have been afforded.

Keiji sullenly returns to his book and harshly scrawls out what Koushi thinks had been the beginning of a sketch of his room.

“I can probably teach you all to read,” Koushi reasons aloud. “It can’t be any harder than teaching you or Kaori how to hold a knife.”

Not only do they gain yet higher standards for their business, but with basic reading and math skills spread between them, no one shorts them on payments or tries to find loopholes in contracts. Their reputation spreads.

 

—

 

It is a cold day in the middle of what passes for winter in the south. Koushi has been flattered into accepting a thick, furred coat by one of his regular clients; it is finely made, lined with mink and clasped with silver buttons. His client had said it was from Canuste. Koushi knows that’s a lie, but the man is one of the merchant lords, so he can’t correct him. He wants to fuck in layers of furs and silks, and Koushi always indulges him, though he ends up sweating even with the windows open.

It’s better than the summer, when patrons tease him for how he moans and flops about uselessly, but only half of it is for show. Twice Koushi has gotten sick from the heat just the past summer. At least in the winter he won’t burn himself stepping outside.

“Koushi, are ya barefoot outside _again_?!” the mistress of the house screeches and Koushi knows this time it may be real and true punishment instead of her nagging. He could recite her speech on how he must take care of his body word for word.

“It’s not even that cold out!” he calls, as politely as he can. He knows his lack of coat will earn him more punishment, too. “I was just seeing Lord Akabane out. He likes to show me off a little!”

“He’d-a like ya better iffin you were properly dressed!”

_What is properly dressed for a whore?_ Koushi wonders as he slinks back inside the fence. They have been better dressed now, to show off newfound wealth and attract more of it. Each client has different tastes, and repeat clients are allowed to have theirs fanned. Koushi has a wardrobe full of gifts. Another thing he is unused to owning.

Koushi wonders over asking the mistress that, or perhaps taking a count of others’ opinions, and whether it is more flattering to have more clothes or less, but when he ducks back inside he finds the mistress and Keiji both waiting for him with the air of grave news to be delivered.

Koushi stops in the open doorway, and they both shiver at the air he lets in.

“Your toes will turn blue yet,” she tells him. “Come along, then. We’ve business to discuss.”

The ledger books are brought out, and Koushi is gestured down into the seat on the opposite side of the desk than he is accustomed to. He does not understand what is going on; he has never once cheated the books or taken coin that belonged to the house. To his knowledge, neither has Keiji, seated next to him.

“You boys got-a some ambitions that’ll take ya far here,” the mistress of the house says with a kindly twinkle in her eye. She’s always been proud of hard workers. Koushi has been careful to stay on her good side. “But let’s see how that price ya offered-a checks out, hm?”

_Price?_ Koushi looks between Keiji and their mistress. _Am I being bought again?_ With their reputation, he doesn’t know what sort of price he could fetch this time. It is not rare for prostitutes to be bought to be exclusive with one or a few patrons, or even for them to become courtesans that live with their patron, but this whorehouse has never allowed that. Regulars are welcomed with open arms and open legs, but the workers stay put.

“It’s more than generous, to reflect our time spent in your warm care,” Keiji tonelessly replies.

The mistress idly lists off profits made by the last nine months, going down black lists with a perfectly painted nail and perfectly composed expression. Koushi’s mind swims with what could be happening. Keiji offers no answer.

Koushi only speaks when prompted to check her math.

He sees, then, what’s beneath the ledgers: a contract.

“Aye, well, ya got a shrewd mind there, Keiji. Always knew you did. Don’t know how you two scrounged-a up enough to afford this, even with all the business you two get, but ya will have my blessing. I’ll sell ya the house and you two will get to deal with who knows what kind-a rumors once folk learn that _men_ are runnin’ a brothel. Nevermind it’s one of the best brothels this side of the sea.”

Keiji signs his name with fumbling difficulty. Koushi stares at the line below it, even after he has been handed the pen.

“No use getting cold feet now,” the (old) mistress of the house tells him.

“Are you capable of getting cold feet?” Keiji asks without a shred of humor.

Koushi signs his name.

Their mistress retires the next week. Koushi waits an admirable fortnight after that before pinning Keiji up against a wall and screaming in his face. “Did you steal money from me?!”

“Of course not.”

“Why is my name on the deed! Why am I dragged into your business schemes at _all_!”

Keiji peels Koushi’s forearm away from his throat. He uses slow movements, so Koushi won’t draw weapons first. “You can read, and write, and add better than I ever could. You are my insurance that thugs will not come in and try to blackmail us the moment news spreads that the whorehouse is in new hands. You help me keep the peace here.”

Koushi reels away from him as if Keiji had been dripping fire from his lips. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You didn’t ask to become a whore, either,” Keiji points out. Then, with a lower, rougher voice, and eyes as hard as diamond, he adds, “You didn’t ask to become a killer, either, did you.”

Koushi slaps him. Closed-fist blows were never permissible on the premises, but then he realizes that they are allowed to make their own rules, and the first rule he makes as one of the contract holders is that he _can_ punch Keiji. So he does, and Keiji takes that, too. For someone with no formal training in fighting, he knows how to take a blow.

“I don’t need your _pity_ ,” Koushi spits at him, outraged nearly to the point of tears. “You didn’t have to drag me into this scheme of yours. I didn’t need to be guarded from the details and—and had my hand held like this isn’t something I could’ve _helped_ with if you would have asked it of me!”

He finds it ridiculously unfair that Keiji has asked him to disposes of corpses but would not ask him for help in something like this. It hurts Koushi more than he ever could have imagined.

“You don’t need to pay me back. We own it in equal shares,” Keiji informs him, and Koushi tries to hit him again, but Keiji catches his wrist this time. “I earned the money outside of bed. This isn’t _pity_ , Koushi—it’s gratitude.”

“…You’ve been killing for coin?” Koushi asks faintly.

“On occasion. I’ve also been selling my art. People pay when they can bed the artist.”

Koushi steps away from him, but Keiji doesn’t release his wrist. Koushi tugs on it. “You’ve been killing, in _Mun Tarik_ , for coin.”

“We’ve been killing for years, Koushi. You even longer,” Keiji says, clearly nettled.

“No, no—never for money! There was no one asking for this! You can’t _do_ that, the assassin guild here will…” Koushi, in his time spent with Miya, had been sent to take care of more than a few upstarts and mercenaries who think they had what it took to become true assassins.

Anyone could kill, but few rarely turned it into an art, and those who did guarded their business jealously.

No matter how Koushi pleads with him or rails against him, Keiji is unconvinced.

 

—

 

Koushi knows them the moment they come through the front door. He does not _know_ them, not personally, but he knows the ease with which they carry themselves, and the confidence in which they survey the entrance hall. These are trained killers. Two of them, one elder and one younger, very much master and apprentice. Koushi had stood in their shoes.

“What brings you to our establishment today?” Koushi asks. Despite the chill air and despite his practiced smile, he knows he is sweating. He has lost the ease with which he used to don emotions.

There are two of them: the woman is the master, the boy her apprentice, probably sixteen or so, hardly younger than Koushi. He will be formidable in his own right. They are not visibly armed, but all that really means is that they aren’t carrying rifles; Koushi has seen even pistols hidden in jackets and under skirts with ease. He is several years rusty with his own skills. He has knives up his sleeves and a short sword hidden in his desk, but he is in thin clothes and uncomfortable shoes.

There is furniture to use, and he can hide behind the desk, but that will only obscure his vision and make himself a stationary target. They’re equidistant to the staircase, and he knows a shout could bring anyone running, but no one else here has enough training to take on professionals.

“Ain’t you a lil lost?” the woman asks with a bright grin. Koushi does not understand her accent.

“Do you know him?” her apprentice asks, quietly, but not so quiet that Koushi cannot hear him.

“Yer hair, snowman. Yer on the wrong side o’ the continent,” she adds with a jerk of her chin.

Koushi rests his elbow on his desk, leaned forward, ass popping out behind him. He idly curls a bit of his silver hair around his finger. With his other hand, he reaches beneath the desk. “It brings in the coin. Do you like a taste of the exotic?”

“Everyone bleeds red in the end, so whatsit matter?” the woman asks, grin sharper than what Koushi is reaching for. “Now then, snowman, are ya the one who’s been misbehavin’, or d’ya need to go fetch someone else for punishment?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Koushi calmly replies. He closes his hand around the hilt of the short sword, and immediately, his cheek is sliced open by a thrown dart.

He freezes reflexively at the feeling of hot blood on his own cheek.

He truly has lost his edge, to freeze like a rabbit in sight of a wolf at the very first injury.

But it is that amateur mistake that makes the woman laugh and relax, just for a moment. “Don’t mean to scare the pretty face! Why doncha go run an’ fetch someone else, hah?”

Koushi catches sight of several curious sets of eyes peeking around corners from the supposed safety of upstairs. It isn’t as if he has anyone else to blame now; he is master of this house, and he will not feed Keiji to these snakes. But he will not die for this, either.

Before Koushi can work out the proper route to take, Keiji marches out from the upstairs hallway with a rifle in his hand. He moves with such stupid, brazen confidence that neither assassin notices until he has already taken aim.

His shot catches the boy in the throat, and he crumples with a wet, dying shout.

The woman has already thrown a dagger up at him, catching him in the shoulder and forcing him to drop his rifle. Koushi vaults over his desk, and before his shoes touch the carpet, he throws the short sword at her. The woman startles, easily batting it out of the way, but it buys him enough time to ram his shoulder into her sternum. They both go toppling over the chaise lounge.

Koushi is anything but calm while wrestling with the woman. When he’d been with Miya, he had always maintained some level of composure, thinking rationally and trying to pinpoint weaknesses for efficiency. Now, he fights as if a wild dog. She is nearly as tall as he is, and she has been training these past two years instead of fucking and relaxing. Neither are in a good position to draw any weapons.

Koushi doesn’t notice Keiji come over and put his rifle over her face until he pulls the trigger.

Koushi catches his breath, still straddling the woman, and Keiji drips blood onto their expensive carpet.

“I told you,” Koushi says at last.

 

—

 

The next assassins who are sent to them recognize Koushi. And, for a moment that stops his heart, he thinks he’s seeing his master again.

Osamu stares up at him from the entry hall, face open in shock, like he’s seen a ghost. Koushi cannot blame him, feeling exactly the same way.

This is the worst possible scenario.

It’s a sweet young thing, new to this, who is at the desk, too close to Osamu and the boy he brought with him. Keiji is with a client. Koushi is half-dressed and only has a small penknife in his pocket. His room is down the hall, but if he makes a break for it, their new girl will likely get taken hostage, or outright killed. Koushi has no chance of making this seem casual or innocent.

Osamu swears in some foreign tongue. “It’s been _you_?” he asks, scrubbing a hand over his face, looking just as much like he wouldn’t like this situation to be happening. “ _You’re_ the little upstart who’s been making a mess here? I have to admit, Kou, I never would have pegged you as having the stones for this sort of thing.”

“I’ve been protecting myself and my friends,” Koushi stiffly replies.

“You know the rules.”

“It has never been my intention to butt heads with the guild.”

Osamu groans again, raking both hands back through his strange hair. “…Tsumu said you were _dead_ , boy. The fuck did he do, dump you off here?”

“Yes, he did,” Koushi replies. He stares hard at the new whore by the desk, trying to mutely will her into backing away. She only stares back at him in confusion. “He sold me, and I’ve been here ever since. Making a life for myself, and protecting my interests, nothing more.”

“You’re more confident than the last time we spoke, that’s for sure. You must be doing well out here.” Osamu looks around, taking in the lavish state of the whorehouse with clear appreciation.

Koushi glances sideways, down the hall, toward his room. He really should have moved to the ground floor; with Keiji on the second floor and Koushi on the ground, things could have been more secure. It’s been _months_ since they killed that assassin and her apprentice. He’d foolishly thought that they’d sent a strong enough warning to the guild.

Can he buy them off? Koushi hardly remembers his master’s brother, but he does recall that he’d been fairly level-headed. They could talk, maybe he’ll buy time and pray that Keiji will finish quickly. He has no chance for a surprise attack, even if he were armed. There will be no saving graces this time.

Koushi doesn’t want to die.

He especially does not want to die to his master’s brother.

“Where is my old master?” Koushi asks as calmly as he can.

_Finally_ , the young woman at the desk seems to catch on that this is a situation to be avoided. With many flustered bows, she dismisses herself from their presence, and to his relief, the assassins let her go. They probably suspect Koushi of all the killings.

He could jump over the railing and land behind the desk—he knows he can make it, has done it before—but Osamu will predict where he’s landing. _Any_ sudden move had better be Koushi’s only move, because he won’t get another. He can’t tell from this distance if either of them have guns, but he knows knives are just as deadly.

“Dead,” Osamu grunts. “S’why no one went looking for you.”

It is, strangely, a relief to hear that he’s dead. A relief to an ache Koushi hadn’t known he’d been carrying all this time. “I never meant to make myself visible here.”

“And you… _like_ this? You always struck me as a bit of a prude, Kou.”

The name still makes him twitch.

“I can keep my own coin here. I can choose my patrons,” Koushi sneers back. “I answer to no one.”

“Except in bed, where they pay you to answer to them,” Osamu points out.

“I don’t want to have to kill you.”

“You couldn’t.”

Koushi can’t argue with him. If he shouts for anyone, he’ll have help, but it will also tip them off that there are others. Koushi’s only real hope is that the fight causes enough of a commotion to draw attention—and that he can stay alive long enough for it to count.

“Don’t look so scared,” Osamu sighs, and he walks toward the stairs, casually and without ill intent. Koushi’s hands tighten on the railing. His apprentice is still downstairs, but Koushi surely hasn’t gotten _so_ rusty he can’t handle a boy, right? “I was sent here to figure out who killed our own.”

Koushi knows that’s grounds for revenge. He tenses, preparing to jump, as Osamu calmly comes toward him.

“I’m not sorry. My master abandoned me here, and I’ve survived. I won’t apologize for that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replies with a shake of his head.

As soon as he steps foot on the second floor, Koushi vaults over the railing.

He does not try to land on the desk, as they expect, but instead drops straight down. He leaps to the side as soon as he can, throwing himself behind a bookcase, and out of view of the apprentice assassin. Keiji hides knives in between the books he steals to draw in, and Koushi fumbles through them frantically.

He finds a dagger just as the apprentice rounds the bookcase.

Koushi’s elbow catches the boy in the face, and he narrowly avoids taking a knife between the ribs. When the boy stumbles back, Koushi pursues, stepping in beneath his guard and plunging his knife into his side.

By the time Osamu rounds the bookcase, Koushi has his apprentice held in his arms, bleeding, with his dagger pressed against his throat.

“Kou, I didn’t come here to kill you,” Osamu sighs. “Let him go.”

“Leave. Leave and _never_ come back, no one ever come back for me,” Koushi says, dragging the boy back a step, pointing his knife at Osamu. “I don’t care how much of your blood ends up on my hands. I’ll keep defending myself.”

“You know,” Osamu says, slowly, and halts his advance. He still hasn’t drawn any weapons, curiously enough. “I didn’t want any apprentices for a long time, either. It was you and Tsumu who convinced me, but even then, I was pretty choosy.”

“You should have thought of that before throwing him at me,” Koushi hisses. The apprentice remains obediently still in his grip.

“I knew what Tsumu and I had always done well. And what we had wasn’t something you could train up,” Osamu says.

Too late, Koushi _feels_ someone come up behind him.

He twists, at the last moment, and finds a boy who looks just like the one in his arms. “ _Keiji_!” Koushi shouts, throwing himself to the side, but his hold on Osamu’s first apprentice turns out to be his downfall. They stumble, and tumble down, and Koushi, despite his desperate thrashing, ends up pinned to the carpet.

“We didn’t want to kill whoever was responsible for all this. I was sent to recruit them,” Osamu says casually, as he walks backwards, eyes on the second floor for whoever Koushi’s shout will bring. “So you weren’t working alone, hm?”

Koushi nearly gets his dagger into one of the boys’ thighs, but the one pinning him, the bleeding one, presses a sweet-smelling rag over his face. He holds his breath for as long as he can. He hears Keiji’s pounding footsteps overhead, and now, he wishes he hadn’t shouted at all.

Osamu swears and throws himself beneath the stairs just before Keiji shoots at him.

When Keiji jumps down from the second floor, however, Osamu is prepared, and he lunges at him the moment he lands.

Koushi finally gasps in the drugged air. To his dismay, his vision does not fade, and he realizes it’s a muscle relaxant, not anything to knock him out. They usually use this on people they want to _know_ have been beaten. Koushi’s struggling weakens, then fades altogether, and his arms fall limp against the carpet.

“ _Koushi_!” Keiji desperately calls, still fighting against Osamu’s hold, toward Koushi. “Koushi, _no_ —!”

“You’re a little rough, but I see now that Koushi must have trained you up himself. Cute,” Osamu casually remarks. His knee digs into one of Keiji’s arms, but Keiji does not still until Osamu has a blade right up against his throat.

Koushi ends up tossed over Osamu’s shoulder, and one of his twin apprentices carries Keiji out of the brothel. _Their_ brothel. Koushi still cannot move, not even to wipe away the tears that drip down his nose.

 

—

 

“Are you okay?” Keiji asks, cupping Koushi’s face, checking him over for further injuries. He’s probably shocked, to see Koushi so shaken, openly weeping. Koushi doesn’t blame him. He wishes he had never called for him.

Koushi has already explained himself to him. He’s explained his past, his old master, his time with the guild, and what’s awaiting them now. They’ve already had blood drawn for their phylacteries, and that drives it home more than anything else.

The first time, Koushi had hardly understood what was waiting for him when Miya bought him. This time, he knows what awaits him, awaits them both. He suddenly, viciously, _heartrendingly_ misses the brothel. He doesn’t want to kill anymore. He doesn’t want this to be his life anymore.

“What is this?” Keiji demands as their blood is charmed before being sealed in small vials.

“Your new leash,” the woman grunts. “We’ll draw again inna week or so. Depends how you’re healin’ up.”

“Healing?” Keiji demands, with somehow more ire.

The woman pats him, roughly, on the cheek. “Ya didn’t think ya’d get away with killin’ our men, didja?”

“The man who brought us—he said—”

“There’s a hierarchy, and there’s rules, and ya stepped on both. It’s a whippin’ to kill master assassins with extenuatin’ circumstances. Be lucky we’re not stringin’ ya both up instead.”

Koushi rubs at his wet eyes. He’s had to watch this happen to others in the past. It’s a surprisingly rare occurrence, given what may count as extenuating circumstances, and he cannot help but wonder if Osamu had any sway in this matter. Koushi may be too valuable to kill, or perhaps they’re enjoying this in some sick sense of entertainment.

Still cuffed, they’re dragged up to the ground floor. Their shirts are stripped off, they’re checked for injuries and disease again, and Koushi expects they’ll be led out into the yard. Instead, the large man with the whip in hand sits down on his stool and studies them both.

“I recognize you. You’re that snowman of Miya’s.”

Koushi nods. He has little other choice. Fear overrides whatever humiliation he'd otherwise feel.

“Heard you’re set to be back with us. Welcome back.”

He nods again.

“Since I’m feelin’ nostalgic, seeing that hair of yours again, I’ll let you pick. Which one of yours you get first, an’ if you want your pretty friend here to go first, last, or middle of you. This is a little unconventional, so I’m not sure what will help you best, but we got the healer on hand already.”

Koushi’s spine goes ramrod straight, arms trembling in their bindings. Keiji looks between them with growing suspicion and anger Koushi hopes he quickly discovers has no place here. “H-Hand,” he chokes out, fear threatening to overcome him completely, “first.”

He’s hoping the pain will distract him from anything else.

The man gestures, and Koushi’s hands are freed. Keiji’s eyes narrow to slits as Koushi is led over to a bloodstained and dirty table along the side of the wall. “What are you doing,” he says, voice completely flat. “We’re getting whipped.”

“You’re getting whipped for killin’ one of our own,” the man lazily corrects. He selects a large blade from the many hanging on the wall, and stretches Koushi’s arm out onto the table. “The snowman is losing a hand for trying to escape.”

“But you—assassins _need_ their hands!” Keiji exclaims in a desperate appeal to logic. “How is he supposed to be any good to you if you’re cutting off his dominant hand?!”

“He ain’t _losing_ it. We got a healer to stitch you two back together, prevent anyone from dying.” The man holds down Koushi’s forearm, grip like iron, and Koushi squeezes his eyes shut. He’s beyond the point of tears now, beyond even fear. He wants this all to _end_. “Magic is a helluva thing, right? The more you learn about the body and how you can use it, the better you’ll do here. Free lesson from me to the two of you.”

Koushi does not scream when the blade is brought down. He only makes a sound when the healer forces his eyes open to check that he’s still aware enough to move his fingers as she begins to sew flesh and bone back together.

But he’d been right; the pain in his wrist helps to distract him from the whipping that follows.  

 

—  

 

They’re old enough not to be paired with masters, and the guild recognizes Koushi’s prior training. They’re instead appointed to train together, until they can be trusted. Koushi knows what to expect. He doesn’t _want_ it. His wrist still aches.

Keiji, however, adjusts well.

It takes him three months to realize that Keiji prefers killing to fucking as a profession.

It feels like a betrayal, but who is Koushi to accuse him of anything when it’s _his_ fault that this happened at all?

At least old habits are easy to fall into. Koushi resumes training his body as hard as he can. He relearns how to handle swords and daggers and darts properly. There is no master to beat him, but neither is there guidance. He’s expected to learn right, the first time, on his own.

But there is Keiji, with him. They use each other to learn. They spar together, and train together, and learn together. They keep each other from getting punished. They polish up their fighting style, something equal parts Koushi’s assassin training and Keiji’s street brawling style, and end up with something formidable. It keeps other guild members from trying to attack them, at least.

But he can’t blame it all on self-defense.

Koushi bloodies his hands once more.

He does not know what his price would be to buy himself out this time, but he knows he could never afford himself _and_ Keiji. He knows he could never have the courage to run away again.

So he keeps moving forward.

It’s somewhat frustrating to realize that Keiji is the better assassin between them, once he gets certain basic skills down. Things like stealth and subtlety had been unnecessary when bludgeoning drunkards in a brothel. (Koushi sometimes wonders how the business must be doing, but he never sends word, even when he’s allowed to. He is too scared to ask if Keiji has. He doubts it.)

Koushi has old experience and better reflexes, but Keiji is larger, and stronger, and, most startling of all, apparently completely unafraid of his new life. He doesn’t bat an eye, no matter who the target may be. He takes jobs that Koushi has only just earned the right to refuse. He won’t kill prostitutes—neither of them will—and he won’t kill most children.

The guild tends to ignore petty disputes and anyone who can’t back up requests with coin, so thankfully, there aren’t many calls for the death of children outside of problematic heirs.

So Keiji takes the messy jobs.

Half the time, Koushi comes too, aggravated and exasperated, but _refusing_ to let him do it alone.

“You can stop fretting over me at any time,” Keiji informs him. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you _don’t_. No sane man accepts a job to kill a _witch_!” Koushi hisses at him.

Witch jobs are beyond messy.

Magic in general is terrible, and difficult, but not impossible. Koushi usually ends up with more injuries than average, and Keiji had nearly lost an arm to someone just last month with the ability to manipulate metals, but _witches_? Koushi has never. Miya never would have let him get near such a job.

Keiji hugs his rifle to his chest and continues counting stars. He’s taken to it when they have quiet nights to themselves, waiting out targets or waiting for collection.

“The pay is good,” Keiji says at last.

“You’re not saving up to buy a whorehouse, this time,” Koushi mutters. “Do you just have a fascination with coin?”

“I know you’re trying to save up to buy our contracts.”

“What about _you_?”

“I’d like to help you,” Keiji says, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Koushi sighs, and relaxes against the cool brick of the chimney behind him. At least they’re up north again. He’s almost missed the travel involved. “If I hadn’t come into your life, what would you be doing?”

“Running a whorehouse and getting cheated out of coin, I’m sure,” Keiji says with dry amusement. He’s enjoyed more education, even if the others in the guild sometimes tease him for it. They usually end up with daggers near their eyes for it. Keiji likes going for the eyes.

Koushi hadn’t wanted to know that about him.

“Outside of whoring and killing,” Koushi corrects, “you’ve rarely ever let me in on your future plans. You just drop businesses in my lap.”

“You just drop assassin guilds in my lap.”

Koushi nudges him with his boot, a warning. It’s a sore spot. Koushi doubts it will ever stop being a sore spot, just another old bruise that will never heal, like his mother, or his homeland, or the pleasant days with Miya before Koushi fucked it all up.

Keiji checks over the edge of the roof, shifts his gun, then tilts his face upward once more. “I’d like to travel,” he confesses. “I’d love to see the world. I want to learn more. I want to _see_ more. I don’t want things to happen to me, I want to _make_ things happen.”

“That’s very frank,” Koushi tells him, “and very vague.”

“Assassins tend to make things happen, at least. And I’m traveling more now than I ever have.”

“And learning none of the languages,” Koushi can’t help but remark. Keiji spares him a sour look.

“I know you don’t believe it, and I know you don’t _want_ to hear it, but I think I could be happy like this, Koushi,” Keiji quietly tells him. His head lists to the side, resting against the barrel of his rifle. “I’ve never minded fighting. I don’t mind having to be the villain in order to protect someone.”

“This isn’t like that.”

“I know it’s not, but sometimes, it is. That’s nice. It’s nice to make a difference instead of be a quick fuck.”

Koushi can say no more, for their target begins to move, below.

 

—

 

The first time Koushi meets the Lord-General, he has no idea who she is. She’s just a severe-looking woman in plain clothes with a scar winding across her face.

“These are two of the ones we can spare right now,” the guildmaster says, dragging a rather grumpy Keiji in behind him. “No apprentices, no family, no masters.”

Her lip curls. “How old are they?”

“Dunno, does it matter?” the guildmaster grunts and slams the door behind him.

Koushi and Keiji look at the woman seated before them. There are no chairs set out for them, but that’s not unusual. Koushi can tell she isn’t in the guild, probably isn’t an assassin at all, but something about her radiates danger. Old danger. She’s not exactly an old woman, but he knows this woman has blood on her hands.

She tilts her head to the side and blatantly studies them both.

“Hello,” Koushi offers in Continental.

“My name is Nanashi. I do not require your names,” the woman begins, and Keiji’s expression darkens further. He hates rude people more now that he has the skills to kill them painfully. “Have either of you ever served in any military?”

“No,” Koushi replies, confused. Ex-military usually go mercenary if they still feel bloodlust after seeing a battlefield. “Do you have a job for us, or…?”

“I have an extended job that involves spy work, deceit, seduction, and killing a very high-ranking target. Royalty.”

Koushi balks at once. “No, no royalty. We’re not taking large jobs like this.”

Keiji, however, is as interested as ever. “Why do you need to kill royalty? What sort of covert job is this? We’re killers, not spies.”

“I have the time to turn you into a spy,” she replies. “My country is currently embroiled in a bitter war. I’d like to put a stop to it. If it soothes your morality, you can say you are fighting for a just peace.”

Koushi tries to remember the state of current political events. Two wars going on, only one on this side of the continent, but do they have royalty? Amicora does, but he doesn’t think the other does. Hadn’t there been a revolution…?

“How much would you pay us to kill the enemy leader for you?” Keiji asks.

“Name a price,” the woman seriously tells him, but her eyes are on Koushi.

“We want freedom. Permanent protection from the guild, your country, and your enemy’s country,” Koushi says, and Keiji gives him a sidelong look, but does not argue.

“I only need one of you.”

“That is our price,” Koushi repeats, voice hard.

The woman’s eyes narrow. After a long staredown, she dismisses them both.

It is two days later when Koushi is taken aside and told he’s been offered the job. The guildmaster _strongly recommends_ he take it, and while Koushi isn’t afraid of him anymore, he doesn’t want his life becoming unnecessarily complicated for the hell of it.

“Why me?” he can’t help but ask.

“She said you were friendlier,” the man replies, grabbing at Koushi’s cheeks, squeezing them. “That’s what you get, snowman, for playin’ nice all the time.”

Koushi rips himself away from him with a disgusted noise.

“She was also real interested in the fact that you used to belong to Miya. Who the hell knows why.”

 

—

 

“I’ll write to you,” Koushi promises, again. “Be well.”

Keiji grasps his hands until they are forced apart. Koushi watches him out the window of the carriage until he’s gone from sight.

Travel to Setaria is slow, but once he is there, work is fast and unrelenting. He is given a new life—the story is thin at best, in his opinion—and a new rank to match. He’s given formal military training, and lessons on Setarian, and proper etiquette for the high class.

His hands still shake when he holds a rifle, and he refuses to ride horses. Koushi breaks the arm of the first person to try to force a gun into his hands.

He isn’t punished.

Koushi is groomed into something befitting high society and military life. His hair is cut shorter, to reflect Setarian fashions, and his ears are pierced, despite his squirming. He is measured and prodded and fitted for every conceivable thing. It’s maddening, and even his patience cannot last, but even when he snaps at attendants or begs out of decisions, he still isn’t punished.

Koushi learns that in this strange country, Generals are akin to royalty, and he has power. Legitimate power, as far as most know.

The power does not go to his head; a savage beatdown by a witch named Hajime cures him of any delusions of grandeur very fast. The haughty man who ordered it, the Lord-General’s youngest child, only laughs when Koushi spits out blood and dirt.

“ _This_ is what we’re given? This won’t work. I don’t know what Mother is thinking,” he scoffs.

Koushi can tell from his stance that he could have the man pinned in four seconds if the witch would get off his spine.

“Not that she tells _me_ anything anymore,” he adds in a growl. “Iwa, let him up. I’m supposed to be training him on tactics and strategy. We have to get a record under his belt, and I’ll be damned if he kills our troops because he doesn’t know what a battlefield looks like.”

As soon as he’s allowed up, despite the witch at his back, Koushi spits at the other General.

The man wipes his face, then grins, feral and dangerous. He looks _so_ like his mother—Koushi now finally believes it.

He takes a wild swing at Koushi, easily dodged. And Koushi pins him in four seconds, easily getting beneath his guard, sweeping his feet out from under him, and putting a knee on his chest.

His triumphant smirk is interrupted by laughter from Hajime behind him. That, in turn, makes General Oikawa light up with delighted laughter of his own. “You made Iwa laugh! I guess there’s more to you than a pretty face and open legs, hm?”

“You’re just upset that they won’t open for you on this job,” Koushi replies and gets off him. “I know your type, General. Cocky, self-assured, so eager to be the hero. You have women swooning left and right and you believe you deserve every one of them.”

Hajime laughs harder, hands now on his knees, eyes gleaming with what look scarily like tears.

“Maybe you’ll stick around long enough to learn something, General Sugawara,” General Oikawa says as he gets to his feet. His cheeks are rosy with mirth that Koushi does not understand. “And, keep in mind,” he adds, lowering his voice and leaning in close, “I’ve killed more people than you ever will.”

He pats Koushi’s hair and retires with his witch.

 

—

 

“Why both of us?” Koushi asks, chin in hand, scowling. “Isn’t this the _point_ of why I was hired?”

“Mother doesn’t like to leave things to chance,” Tooru replies.

“Plans upon plans upon plans,” Takahiro agrees, his mouth full. Issei, on Tooru’s other side, nods, cheeks stuffed. They’re in the capital, all at the same time, which is getting to be rarer and rarer as Koushi is expected to fulfill the role of a General. He is still borrowing strategies, usually from Tooru or Tanji. But at least he can stand at the head of a battalion in a black uniform. It’s not _that_ difficult to be a figurehead.

Koushi does not know how to broach the topic of why _he_ was chosen. He isn’t certain Tooru knows. He’s very young, after all, and even a General in his own right, Koushi has seen what the flow of information is amongst the Council.

“I understand using a hired assassin. You get to throw me to the wolves afterward, and claim your hands are clean,” Koushi says, carefully, “but there are simpler ways to instigate a coup, even in an enemy country. It would be simpler to send me in and kill the man.”

“Mother _wants_ peace. We all want this war over,” Tooru replies.

“So finesse is required. It was the Amicoran Queen’s death that started this,” Takahiro says, then takes another huge bite of his mutton. Koushi looks away, both from his words and his lack of table manners.

“And so,” Issei says, seamlessly picking up with that strange magic of theirs, “we don’t want to actually make things worse. This way, Setaria claims no knowledge, and hopefully the new King isn’t as much of a right bastard as the old one.”

“Also, the royal line has a _bloodbound_ witch. I doubt even you could sneak into a palace with a witch on your heels, Suga,” Tooru tells him.

“Stop calling me that.”

“It’s a sign of friendliness. I want us to be friends, don’t you?” Tooru pouts.

Koushi flicks a stray bread crust at him. “Next time, give me a strategy that _works_. General Washijou about had his boot up my ass when I nearly lost my division thanks to that Ushijima fellow.”

“Oh, here we go,” Issei groans as Tooru slaps the table.

“General Ushijima is an _ass_ and he’s a terrible person, and a terrible leader! He doesn’t stop _advancing_! He’s like a charging bull!” Tooru crosses his arms and huffs, not unlike a child. Koushi is mildly concerned for the state of the country that allows this man to be a leading power. “One day, we’ll trip him up. _I’ll_ trip him up.”

“Why do you think the war’s been going on so long?” Takahiro asks.

“It’s not like we’re _winning_ ,” Issei adds.

 

—

 

This is not the first time Koushi has visited Amicora, but it is the first time he has visited it while wearing black in the middle of a very warm spring. The last letter he’s allowed to send to Keiji ends up with sweat stains ruining half the ink.

Because the Lord-General is a sadist, he is ordered to travel exclusively in uniform, and he hates every moment. Tooru pouts over the fact that Hajime was barred from attending, even though he snuck those two attendants of his along. The Lord-General sanctioned it, too, which Koushi privately believes is going to blow up in their faces.

Watching the King of Amicora verbally spar with the Lord-General has entertainment value, if only because he has no personal stake in any of this. The man is fit for his age, but his age is advancing, and Koushi knows he will be little fight. It’s the witch— _witches_ , if reports are to be believed—that he has to worry about. He isn’t supposed to meet any of them until the farewell ball, but he scans the room, half-hoping to get a glimpse of a figure in the rafters.

The Prince, so shocked at the impolite speech and lack of formality, is not a worry.

Koushi is supposed to win the affections of this man, flatter him into a betrothal, and once he has free access to the palace and royal family, strike.

He’s handsome enough, he supposes, but he’s almost certainly the type of young man who comes into brothels blushing and trying to convince every prostitute there that he’s the biggest cock around. Koushi does not put much thought into Prince Daichi at first.

 

—

 

The first time he hears ‘Kou’ he nearly gives himself whiplash. “Who?” he asks, quickly quelling his alarm.

Prince Daichi blinks at him. “Sorry. Koutarou—the Court Witch of Amicora. It’s a fond nickname I have for him.”

“Not just you,” the Prince’s tallest guard says with a leer. Koushi thinks the man permanently wears one.

“Yes, yes, he’s fond of you, too. Stars know why.”

“I’m very loveable!”

Koushi cannot help but make a face, and Prince Daichi bursts out into laughter. “General Sugawara here begs to differ!”

Koushi offers them a smile. He _thinks_ they’re joking. He prays they are. “I don’t mean to offend.” His wrists twinge, but no lie catches.

“Daichi would find it very amusing if you _did_ manage to offend me,” the guard drawls. Koushi has issue at times with his accent, but he’s getting better at it. “But then again, Daichi finds most things you do rather amusing, don’t you?”

“Stop that,” the Prince says, but to Koushi’s amazement, his warning does little for his guard. It reminds him of Tooru’s two.

It reminds him, however slightly, of Keiji.

 

—

 

Caught off guard, uncomfortable, and literally naked before a man he is intending to deceive, Koushi loses his temper.

He interrupts Daichi’s flustered talk. “You seem to forget, Your Highness, that people are not _born_ into this like royal bloodlines,” he seethes, nails digging into his own biceps where he’s wrapped his arms around himself. He’s painfully aware of the scars decorating his body. He’s never had cause to be ashamed of them, and he does not feel shame even now, but he feels afraid and irritated and tired, already, by this Prince’s assumptions. “I have not been a General all my life, and in fact I have had a life outside of the Setarian military. But I would not like to discuss it at this time with you.”

Daichi, predictably, goes quiet.

Koushi chews on his tongue, annoyance now at _himself_. Daichi is too easy to talk to, he reasons. He’s curious. He’s curious about the wrong things, true, but considering how that country treats its military leaders, Koushi cannot fault him.

He tries to think of how best to repair the situation. He knows this is not meant to be sexual, despite Daichi’s lingering looks at Koushi’s body; Amicora has shared public bathing and nudity is not taboo among even strangers. It nearly be simpler if it _were_ sexual.

Daichi surprises him, not for the first time, by speaking first. “You could have asked in return what a prince did to deserve a flogging. I was born into this role, after all, and that comes with many privileges. Not the least of which is being spoiled by everyone around you.”

He sounds _apologetic_.

Koushi, being cruel while naked with a man he’s intending to flatter, is being apologized to by a _Prince_.

Bemused, he replies, “I wouldn’t want to inadvertently insult you or your station.”

“Alright, I deserved that.”

Koushi struggles to reconcile this sort of self-aware humor with what little he knows of royalty and nobility. He cannot say it isn’t charming. “Yes. But I _am_ curious why you’re volunteering this information, so you may go ahead and regale me with the tale of how you managed to piss someone off enough for them to overlook their station and attack you. You may even tell me of their punishment afterward.”

Daichi shakes his head. He is still facing away from Koushi, to give him some small sense of privacy. “No, no, that’s not what I was setting this up for. My father the King ordered it.”

Daichi only turns to him then, expression determined, eyes hard. Koushi stares at him; he had not expected anything like this, even if the Lord-General must be positively _giddy_ over royal infighting.

Daichi continues, “I may not be wearing magicked items, but I strive to be an honest man, and the truth is this: my father had no knowledge of my contact with the Lord-General until you were already invited. These peace talks are my initiative, and show my commitment to ending this war.”

He sounds every inch a King. Commanding, determined, and _sincere_ in his belief for the best. Given another five or ten years, given a crown upon his head and an army at his disposal, he could be a very powerful, and very dangerous ruler. Koushi wonders if the Lord-General, so distracted and focused on the current King, is even aware of what kind of man Daichi could be.

Koushi forces out a smile. He nudges Daichi in the side, aiming for casual but affectionate contact, despite how he feels he needs to hide from Daichi and his brightness. “Well, aren’t you noble? I’m… glad. That you’re like this.”

“Like what?” The determination is gone, replaced by boyish confusion. Koushi might even call it _cute_.

“A good man,” Koushi replies. _What am I supposed to do with a sincerely good man?_

 

—

 

Late-night walks through the garden turn into baths together turn into a picnic turn into _stress relief_.

Koushi can’t believe how easy this is. Koushi can’t believe how easy Daichi is _making_ this. Unless Koushi is gravely mistaken—and he’s had a few years of practice identifying when people are smitten with him—Daichi earnestly finds Koushi charming. Attractive, yes, that’s to be expected. But a Prince, sincerely attracted to an enemy General?

Koushi and Tooru have many a good laugh over it.

But Koushi is left wondering.

He catches glimpses of Daichi’s struggles and strength. The tension between father and son is blatant enough, but Koushi is privy to how it wears on Daichi’s heart and mind. He knows Daichi doesn’t _want_ a coup, and that there is, bizarrely, some sort of familial affection left between he and the King.

Daichi talks fondly to the staff, and more fondly to his pets. Daichi does not blame Koushi for outing a witch, nor does he blame him for the Lord-General’s vile words.

_If only you knew_ , Koushi thinks, smiling warmly enough to encourage Daichi’s own mirth. Private dinners between them are common, now that Koushi is sequestered away from the Setarian envoy. Daichi has not laid a hand on him as punishment. He has only asked questions and begged for answers Koushi cannot give. _If only you knew, Daichi._

Koushi almost wants to help him.

Daichi is idealistic, yes, but Koushi sees the way his men adore him. He sees the way Daichi fumbles and staggers and falters, yes, but he also sees him rise to the occasion. He charms Koushi. Koushi is afraid of it.

Kissing Daichi is easier. If they’re kissing, then Daichi cannot be swaying him with his words, and Koushi can fall into old habits. Kissing is easy, like breathing; Koushi doesn’t have to overly think about the man if they’re busy doing other things, and Koushi prefers that.

He hopes Daichi does, too.

During the farewell ball, when Tooru and General Ushijima are at each other’s throats and the witch Koutarou is called between them, Koushi sees his chance: the King is alone. No one is looking at them.

He could take care of this now, and spare Daichi heartbreak.

Koushi gets within arm’s reach before he realizes how _foolish_ he’s being.

_Daichi is incidental_ , he scolds himself, backing away through the crowd that is much more interested in the shouting than they are a cowering General. _Daichi doesn’t matter. I need to do this right._

If he does this right, then not only is he freed, but he can pull Keiji from the guild, too. He can buy his way out from the life he never asked for. They could travel, together, perhaps.

Koushi hasn’t given much thought to his own future, even with a royal marriage as a prospect. It has never mattered compared to fixing past mistakes.

But when he and Daichi dance together, Koushi, for the first time, ponders an actual future.

 

—

 

_One is broken. The Lord-General has two more_ , Koushi thinks on the trip back to Setaria. She possesses one of Koushi’s phylacteries, and one of Keiji’s. One had been shattered when he took the job, but little good it does when she could still leash him with the next.

The third doesn’t matter, housed in a warehouse across the continent. By the time they get to it, he and Keiji will be able to escape. It’s the contract holder’s one that concerns him. He must stay in the Lord-General’s good graces to secure his, and Keiji’s second one will be held by whoever he is working for at the time. It is no easy feat to steal one, but it _can_ be done.

Daichi and that witch of his are close. He could potentially be a tool.

Tooru watches him too-closely.

Koushi props his bare feet up on Tooru’s knee in response. “You’re disgusting,” he says, nose wrinkled, and nudges Koushi’s feet away.

“ _You’re_ the one who gave me too-small boots.”

“ _You’re_ the one who works better barefoot.”

“If you want me sneaking around at night, I have to be quiet. I’m quietest without big military boots.” Another calculated lie between them. It feels like Koushi’s entire life has been a balancing act between the truth and further lies, but it’s nice to have the cuffs off his wrists.

With the ceasefire still in effect, Koushi will have little to occupy his time with in coming months, until Amicora begins negotiations for the treaty. He wonders what Daichi will say when he first reads the treaty. It won’t be pleasant, he knows, and he feels an odd stab of guilt low in his belly.

“Thinking about your upcoming betrothal?” Tooru asks with much waggling of his eyebrows. “The Prince is _smitten_ with you, I daresay. You’re good at your job.”

_No, I’m pretty and know how to flatter a man_ , Koushi thinks but does not voice. “What does it matter? I doubt he’ll have many fond feelings when I kill his father and flee the country.”

“He _wants_ the power. We’re doing him a favor,” Tooru reasons. He looks out the window, and, too casually, he adds, “It must be nice, though. He could get married for love.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Koushi scoffs. Tooru hums. “I don’t love him, anyway.”

“You love his cock well enough.”

“Again, you’re only jealous.”

“Suga, please. I would eat that man alive, royal or not.”

_And I won’t?_ Koushi wonders.

 

—

 

Koushi’s joy at being reunited with Keiji is only tempered by the fact that the Lord-General is aware of his presence. They’re careful not to be caught in any sort of trap, and Koushi is especially wary or any attempts at blackmail, but she is content to let them be. Koushi will take what happiness he can.

It isn’t until Keiji points it out, however, that Koushi becomes aware of _how much_ he talks about Daichi.

“You seem rather enamored,” Keiji says, not looking up from his sketching. Koushi has bought him proper sketchbooks, though he could no doubt afford them now himself. He still prefers to deface books he can’t read. Koushi wonders if he means it as an act of rebellion.

“He’s the man I’m meant to seduce into a marriage. It’s just what Kaori always dreamed of,” Koushi says with a laugh.

“I suppose you can’t get richer than the Prince of a country,” Keiji allows.

Neither ask if they’ve been in contact with anyone from the brothel. It’s been years now. It doesn’t really matter anymore, Koushi tells himself. “How have you been keeping busy?”

“It’s a capital,” Keiji absently replies. “There’s work to be done.”

“Don’t make it political, would you?”

“I think you’re handling that well enough between us.” With a frown, Keiji scribbles something out, then peers at Koushi over the edge of his book. “How do you feel about this, now that you’ve met the man? You’ve always had a soft heart, Koushi.”

He snorts. “What does it _matter_?”

“Fair enough,” Keiji allows, and resumes drawing.

Koushi is content with his company, and they are subtle enough about his presence as to not draw any further ire from the other members of the Council.

Hardly a month passes and Koushi is yet again regaling Keiji with details about Daichi’s life, come from his letters, and begging for him to use his drawing skills. He manages to make Keiji laugh with his requests, but he has a soft spot for witch wine, and Koushi abuses it mercilessly.

He could get used to this sort of a lavish lifestyle.

He pushes thoughts of ruining Daichi’s future from his mind as best he can. During the day, there is work to be done, and he succeeds. During the night, when he’s awake in bed and alone with his thoughts, Koushi fails. Some nights, he seeks out company, but other nights, the darker nights, he entertains thoughts of _other_ plans.

He wishes, so desperately, that he could do something for Daichi.

True, he will hand him a crown, and the Lord-General will rescind both the betrothal and the blood reparations in order to earn his goodwill. Daichi will gain everything he’s wanted. Peace, power, stability. Koushi doesn’t understand why he even cares for his father, as much of an ass as the man is.

Daichi will be alright.

_Will my betrayal hurt him as much as the loss of his father?_ Koushi wonders when he can’t help himself. Daichi should gain everything he’s wanted. But he’ll lose a father and a husband in the same night. Koushi could even fail, and be killed, and perhaps Daichi will not even gain anything from it.

Koushi _needs_ something good in this mess for Daichi, too. It is how he passes the summer.

 

—

 

Being privy to all of Daichi’s desperate plans and political fumbling only makes Koushi worry for him more.

_It’s all a bluff. The first treaty is all a bluff to get me into your good graces_ , Koushi wishes to shout at him. In the same breath, he wishes he could seize Keiji by the collar and shout at him, too. _You could have ruined everything for us. Why would you take this away from me?_

Koushi is scared of when it became _me_ instead of _us_.

Koushi is scared that he might be getting attached to Daichi, too.

But the more time he spends with him, the more he wants, so badly, to help him. He wants to see Daichi succeed. Daichi tries so hard, a perpetual uphill battle against a war that’s far longer than he can comprehend, and Koushi wants to be there to push him along. He has the information and the means.

Each time he tries, he nearly ends up vomiting. Once, he passes out. He can’t speak with Hajime’s magics holding his tongue.

_Let me help you_ , he wants to beg. But he doesn’t deserve that level of trust from Daichi. Not when he’s already done so much—been complicit in so many plans against him. Not when Keiji almost killed him. Not when Koushi _still_ defends Keiji.

“What do I do?” Koushi asks Keiji, the night he sneaks back, with the help of Koutarou. “Keiji, what am I supposed to do?”

Keiji has little pity for emotional rationales, but Keiji has also always been just as consumed by Koushi’s turmoils as Koushi is for his. Even if they are matters of the heart, as he fears.

“A coup is best for him.” Keiji has even volunteered to help Koushi with it. But considering Koutarou’s feelings about Keiji, Koushi doubts that will be the best route to take.

“The Lord-General is his enemy. If we could remove her…”

“You’d have to sacrifice yourself to do it. You’d have to tell him,” Keiji reminds him.

But Koushi already knows how he can.

 

—

 

The candle is low and the sky is pink with dawn light when Koushi finishes.

They’re set to be married today.

Koushi wearily holds up his wrists. “Everything I’ve told you is true, Daichi. Everything.”

Daichi nods. He appears exhausted, not just from the poison, but from everything Koushi has just given him. Koushi can only imagine what his thoughts may be. He _fears_ what his thoughts may be.

He can beat Daichi in a fight, but with Koutarou present, they’ll be lucky to get out alive. Using Daichi as a bartering tool would take too long. Giving Daichi all of this information will ruin any chance they have with the Lord-General, and he’d be damned if they didn’t already expect this. They ought to get back to the capitol building before Hajime comes for him.

“By revealing who I am and what the plan for me was, you can use it against the Lord-General, and she will back away from the betrothal as well as the blood reparations. Slander me and you’ll have the blackmail you need to win against her,” Koushi says. “You’ll have to take care of His Majesty on your own.”

“You want to kill my father,” are the first words out of Daichi’s mouth, and Koushi finds his heart sinking.

“I don’t—” He is yanked harshly to the floor. Koushi could cry with frustration. “I do. Personally. No father should whip his son for trying to find a peaceful solution to a long war. As a professional, I don’t care.”

“Kou—Koutarou can hear you right now,” Daichi says.

“Daichi,” Koushi sighs, “your witch has known what I was since the first day.”

Daichi stares at him, mouth open, brows drawn low.

“What did he stand to gain by killing me outright? The Lord-General would rightfully accuse you all of murder, even if I am not truly a General. She would have the upper hand in all peace negotiations, if you still found a way to pursue them. Unless I laid a hand on you or your father, unless I proved my intentions were foul, he couldn’t touch me.”

“But… now, this plan…” Daichi falters, brow still furrowed. Koushi wishes he could smooth it out for him, remove all this stress he has given him. It is no light burden he has shared. “You have no chance of succeeding. Does the Lord-General truly believe this could _work_? Koutarou _knows_! Kenma is…”

“Removed from play, if Koutarou wasn’t lying to me,” Koushi says dryly. Daichi scowls at him. “Once he was convinced I would try to tell you the truth, your witch has been very forthcoming. I’m sorry, Daichi, but I’m the better strategist between us. Kenma is not loyal to you, and Koutarou, even after a marriage, could not harm me without the same consequences. Until I made a move. And, well, you invited both Keiji and myself into your entourage now, so our chances are fairly good.”

“That’s an awful lot of confidence,” Daichi says weakly.

“I am good at my job.”

And then, Koushi falls silent. He wants— _needs_ —to know what Daichi’s thoughts are. He needs to know if he ought to be running while the sky is still dark, or if he’s going to be getting married in a matter of hours.

“You can’t kill my father,” Daichi finally says.

Koushi almost manages a smile.

“I—forbid it. Know what you are… _who_ you are… I’m recovering from that shock,” Daichi admits, now glaring at the floor between them, “but no matter what happens, Koushi, you _cannot_ kill my father. I will not be an usurper.”

“It would be easier.”

“Koutarou would kill you,” Daichi stresses, looking up at him. His eyes search Koushi’s. Koushi finds concern in Daichi’s gaze, and still the dredges of warmth. “I couldn’t—no, not you both. I don’t want _more_ bloodshed. I will not lose either of you. I can handle this without stealing the crown.”

“Do you hate me for this?” Koushi asks, needing to know the answer.

Daichi averts his eyes. It takes a long time, and he seems as uncertain of the answer, but he tells him, “I don’t think I do. It is a lot to think about, yes, but at least I finally know why you hide daggers up your sleeves.”

“Mercifully, you are _terribly_ obtuse at times, even when I did slip up and reveal things like that,” Koushi admits.

“Yes, I am realizing that in hindsight. How often were you laughing at me behind my back?”

“More and more rarely, the better I got to know you,” Koushi tells him and reaches for Daichi’s hands. Daichi pulls away, and Koushi folds his hands in his lap again. “I’m so sorry, Daichi. I know this all must be a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you the benefit of more time, either, but Keiji and I need to leave today if we are to have any chance at dodging Hajime and Yuu.”

“Koutarou would help you?” Daichi murmurs, eyes askance.

“Undoubtedly, he’d be very glad to be rid of us.”

Daichi mumbles something else. Koushi leans in to better hear him, and he repeats, “I wouldn’t. Be glad to be rid of you.”

“Heartwarming,” Koushi says and _means_ it, tries to smile so this is clear, “but I need to know plainly, Daichi. We’re either to be wed today, or I’ll be out of your life forever.”

Finally, Daichi raises his eyes again. His gaze is unwavering. “You aren’t to kill my father. But I would be a fool to turn down any help at this stage, much less that of a man I’ve come to care a great deal for.” Then, with a tentative, crooked smile, he adds, “And I’d hate to be made more of a fool than I’ve already been.”

 

—

 

“These are _beautiful_ ,” Koushi gasps as soon as the box is opened. He hasn’t enjoyed all of the prim and proper uniforms and fittings and formal dress to wade through, but now it’s all behind him, and now he gets to enjoy, with full honesty, the fact that he is receiving very expensive, very beautiful gifts.

“Father thought he was being clever,” Daichi grumbles, and he looks chagrined by the very sight of the diadem lying in the soft velvet box. “It’s… It’s not _befitting_ a Prince Consort, or a Duke.” Daichi touches the finely made crown without fear, thumb brushing over the dark metal like he’s browsing cheap fabrics at the marketplace.

“It’s blackened steel,” Asahi supplies, looking away from Koushi like he, too, is embarrassed.

“It’s _beautiful_ ,” Koushi firmly repeats. He trusts steel more than he trusts precious metals, so he finds it fitting, not insult.

It’s a fairly simple circlet, made of blackened steel and polished to a bright gleam. Gold is only a thin outline on the topmost side, highlighting the curls and delicate filigree, and three large topazes are set into the front, ringed with small, clear diamonds.

“Black for Setaria,” Daichi tells him, “and gold for Amicora. Mine matches—gold metal, black stones. These are just the nuptial crowns, but you’ll only have this and the state one until I… ascend.” Daichi clears his throat, leans in very close, and says again, “Which will _not_ happen upon my father’s death, but instead happen upon our joint terms, of which you have no input, my dear fiancé.”

“Of course,” Koushi replies, and dares to kiss Daichi’s nose. It’s his own fault for being so close. The way Daichi blinks at him is worth it. “I’ve never had political dreams, Daichi. You won’t hear me having opinions on how you run your country.”

“Except I have,” Daichi points out.

“Only because I think _you_ should be running your country,” Koushi allows.

“You two appear to be in a good mood,” Asahi remarks. “I’m glad, even if I find it an unusually frank good mood.”

Daichi pretends to study the crown with renewed interest. Koushi looks between them, lost.

“Does this have anything to do with why my lord was spirited out of our official lodgings for most of the night?” Asahi continues in a quieter, somehow sterner voice. For all of Tetsurou’s swagger and posturing, Koushi has always found Asahi the larger threat, and it is moments like this that prove why.

“We talked. That’s all, Asahi,” Daichi replies.

“And that’s why you both look exhausted?”

That, too, prompts guilt. With no chance at sleep with the wedding upon them, they’ve splashed themselves with cold water and have even gone so far as to pinch each other to keep awake. Nerves do the rest.

Still, Koushi wonders what Daichi may tell his men. He knows they’re close. He knows he values their input and opinions. He wonders if this, too, will turn them further against Koushi, which could turn Daichi against Koushi.

Koushi has sacrificed a lot of his options to help Daichi in this. Keiji hadn’t thought it totally wise, but Koushi had made his decision. Running is still an option, just a more foolish one with each passing second. He could take the beautiful crown and sell it in a flash.

It’s strange, to think that wanting to help the man may have caused Koushi to trust him _less_.

 

—

 

Koushi is dressed in more finery than he’d ever thought he’d own in his life, combined. The mantle is hemmed with gold embroidery, and the buttons match. His new crown is held in place with pins lined with topaz. He has a new Setarian uniform—his last—and the Lord-General ensures that it’s buttoned up to his throat and pressed into lines so clean he’s certain he could kill with them.

He likes the boots, though. They’re Amicoran made, and they actually fit. He thinks they had been Daichi’s doing.

“I’ve no practice dressing anyone in this kind of clothing,” Keiji grumbles while they both wrestle with Koushi’s mantle in a semi-private corner. He has been careful to stay out of the Lord-General’s eye, but for Amicora, he must maintain presence at Koushi’s side. If anyone could handle that balancing act, it would be Keiji.

“Just—make it look nice,” Koushi grits out. They’ve plenty of practice pretending things look nice.

“What’s to be done with all this once we set out for Amicora?”

Every frugal instinct in Koushi rears against simply throwing out the clothing. He can fit into Keiji’s clothes well enough, but the opposite is not true, and Daichi would have no use for any of this. “I’m keeping it,” he mutters. Surely there will be _some_ use for Setarian uniform after his wedding. Such an authentic disguise.

“I’m sure that will earn your new father’s adoration.”

“This could have been _you_.”

“I don’t have the temperament, remember?” Keiji says and flicks the end of Koushi’s nose. “General Oikawa would’ve been better suited. He can handle peacocking more than you ever could.”

“We’re here now,” Koushi sighs. “Please, no sass. I’m certain it’s considered rude to sass someone about to be wed.”

“I have never been accused of being polite,” Keiji says, though with a note of apology. Somehow, he wrestles Koushi’s annoying clothing into sitting properly, and he pulls one of the pins from Koushi’s hair in order to fasten it in place. Generations of Amicoran royalty are probably weeping in their graves.

Koushi takes a deep breath. He’s nervous, for reasons he’s unused to. He’s nervous about getting _married_ , which had been an alien concept to him until very recently, and he’s never dealt with nerves well. He’d been nervous talking to Daichi, but this is different.

Keiji sets a firm hand on either of Koushi’s shoulders, careful not to ruin anything they’ve just gotten to behave. Koushi blinks up at him.

“Gold looks terrible on you,” Keiji seriously tells him, and Koushi snorts back a laugh, too surprised to maintain his composure. Keiji grins, satisfied, and Koushi falls into helpless giggles, hands clamped over his mouth to try to stifle himself.

Daichi finds them like this—Keiji shielding Koushi against a wall, Koushi trying to muffle himself, both of them grinning madly. Even Keiji’s smile does not totally drop away at the sight of the Prince.

Daichi, however, only has eyes for Koushi. Koushi wishes they’d found each other again in slightly better circumstances than these antics, but he cannot deny that Daichi looks a marvel. He’s grown up wearing finery and acting the part of the royal; he wears the attitude as well as his wedding ensemble. For a breathtaking moment, Koushi remembers why he’d found Daichi so striking.

“There you are,” Daichi says, with none of the sternness he’d probably been hoping for. He steps toward them, and Keiji obediently steps away, but Daichi turns to address him first. “The Lord-General is on the way back to escort General Sugawara. You’ll accompany me back to the Amicoran party.”

“Right,” Keiji sighs. He gently presses a kiss against Koushi’s forehead, careful not to upset his slicked-back hair, and spares him one last, private smile. “I’ll see you later, Your Highness.”

“He’s not a Prince until I’m crowned,” Daichi deadpans, but Keiji shrugs, and ducks away with his usual dismissal of most of Daichi’s existence. “Just so long as no one picks him out of the crowd…”

“In a few hours, it won’t matter. She can’t touch me anymore,” Koushi says, happily, and reaches forward to take Daichi’s hands in his. Daichi finally smiles. He appears tired, and older, and distracted, but he also looks fond. Koushi will take it, for the time being. “It still feels like a dream, and I’m scared to wake up from this. Except the uniform, I’m very tired of the uniform.”

“Soon, you won’t have to wear that dreadful black ever again.”

“Daichi,” he warns, “if you try to put me into all white, I’m going to look like a ghost. I refuse.”

Daichi releases one of his hands in order to straighten Koushi’s circlet, and his hand lingers against Koushi’s hair. “You weren’t ever going to be suited for Amicoran colors,” Daichi murmurs, thoughtful, attention on the dark steel in Koushi’s hair. Unexpectedly, he grins, wide and halfway sly. “It’s a good thing Princes can wear what they want, outside of state functions.”

“I thought you said I’m not a Prince yet,” Koushi returns, just as coy.

“As long as you wear my ring, you can wear whatever you like.”

“I’ll remember those words,” he threatens, gleeful, and Daichi hesitates only a moment before nodding. Koushi tugs on their connected hands. “Well, there’s no use putting it off any longer. No one’s ill, there’s a treaty to uphold, and we’ve an _awful_ lot dignitaries to impress.”

Daichi continues smiling, however wearily. He squeezes Koushi’s hand. “Let’s go, then. Together.”

 

—

 

Koushi has never paid much attention to wedding vows. He has only attended a handful of weddings, and they were either in the unfortunate case of trying to kill one of the betrothed, or as a prize on someone’s arm to try to outshine one of the betrothed. This is a far cry.

He counts the exits, as he always has. The cathedral is pretty, though he has long left whatever faith he’d been raised with. The hall is large, and packed full with eager and overjoyed spectators. Royalty and nobility and military leaders, esteemed guests, so many strangers Koushi has never heard of and will never meet again. He’s so rarely been the center of attention in a crowd like this. At least serving as a Setarian General has blunted some of his unease.

Through hurt, through hunger, and through hell. Koushi thinks he has already tried to support Daichi through some degree of those. Not that a political marriage holds much weight when it comes to affection for a spouse, but they’ve gotten lucky.

Koushi stands by Daichi’s side as the King presents their rings and Daichi’s wedding presents. Koushi is mildly surprised to find a dagger among them, but he keeps his face a mask. The rings are the last thing given, and at last, Koushi is given the symbol of his new marriage—and new authority.

He manages to avoid the temptation of immediately sending a smug look in the Lord-General’s direction. No doubt she’s pleased, thinking her plan advancing, no matter what suspicions she may have of Koushi himself.

Finally, their hands are tied with white ribbon, and the cardinal declares them wed.

Daichi and Koushi, with entwined hands raised above their heads in a gesture more for _victory_ than _love_ , turn to face the mass of people before them.

To Koushi’s astonishment, the Lord-General is the first out of her seat to kneel before them.

Everyone takes a knee, despite the fact that Daichi is not yet King, despite the fact that Koushi had lied and deceived his way into this power. Koushi watches and swallows down bile as they pay their respects to the men who ended the war and symbolize the new union between their countries.

The King of Amicora, beside Daichi, takes a knee as well.

Koushi is pretty sure he’s not supposed to do that.

“Citizens, guests, and officials gathered here today,” Daichi calls out over the crowd. His voice rings strong in the large hall. He looks every inch the King he is not yet. “I, the Crown Prince of Amicora, have taken Brigadier General Sugawara of Setaria in total faith as my lawful husband. With our union, we hereby announce to the world that we commit ourselves wholly to the cause of peace.”

As nice as Daichi’s voice is, powerful and confident, Koushi finds himself distracted by the worry that he’s meant to say something, too. He doesn’t know what he could say that could compare. He doesn’t _want_ to talk to these people. He doesn’t care for them. He hardly cares for the peace that Daichi champions. It’s not _his_ peace.

“With my announcement and with these rings,” Daichi pauses to lift their tied hands a little higher, giving Koushi’s a reassuring squeeze in the process, “we hereby declare, with all of the power inherent in my role, that the ceremony is concluded and the treaty between our countries will be affirmed.”

Koushi cannot help a sigh of relief at the conclusion of the ceremony. The crowd begins to rise to their feet, murmurs growing as the gravity of the situation ebbs away, and Koushi thinks they’re ready to leave. He’s going to have to be on a horse again, and he’s not looking forward to _that_.

But before Koushi can take a single step, Daichi seizes him around the waist, bends him in a dip that Koushi _nearly_ flips him for, and kisses him soundly on the mouth.

The cathedral hall falls quiet, just for a single, scandalized moment.

It is Tetsurou’s whoop that breaks the ringing silence. Koushi is _certain_ Tooru’s loud hoot is the next, and soon, there is a joyous, delighted furor.

Daichi rights Koushi, and Koushi may not have been able to hide daggers up his sleeves today, but he’s thanking every star in the sky he didn’t accidentally do something foolish on reflex. “I’ve wanted to embarrass Father and the Lord-General like that for _months_ , and last night’s talks didn’t sway me from that,” he confesses in a whisper, and presses another kiss to Koushi’s cheek.

With applause and good-natured jeering lining them, Daichi and Koushi walk down the aisle together, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi faces what a future with Koushi will mean.


	32. blood ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tradition dictates this: the first dance by the wedded couple, so that everyone else may dance after they set precedent; hors d'oeuvres to be served once the night is opened; spirits to be served only after the wedded couple have eaten from every dish; and finally, they receive their wedding gifts.

“So, you’re married to an assassin whose sole job is now to kill your father and turn you into an usurper. And you willingly let him into your life,” Koutarou says like a cat with a bird already in its mouth.

“You knew,” Daichi retorts. “You knew the entire time.”

“What would you have had me do, Daichi?”

“ _Tell me_ next time an assassin gets close to me.”

Koutarou rolls over in the air, now sprawled on his back, and puts his forearm delicately to his forehead, like a fainting maiden. “You’ll only _snap_ at me if I do it now! I’m not some monster who can glean every thought from a man’s head. You’ve two of them in your hair now, and—”

“Koutarou, there you are,” the King calls, striding over to them.

Koutarou glares at him over his arm, and Daichi snaps to guilty attention. To Daichi’s surprise, Koushi is following along at the King’s elbow, still mostly dressed in his new finery. Daichi suspects he’s having issues trying to figure what to wear now, and Daichi can’t blame him. There’s no true precedent.

“Daichi,” Koushi says, and goes to him with all the warmth of the midday sun. No doubt Daichi is his refuge from the King.

Daichi winds an arm around Koushi’s waist and turns back to his father. “Kou was congratulating me on the wedding. He and Tetsurou were surprised nothing went wrong.”

“You _only_ caused a minor scandal,” his father replies. Daichi wonders how long he’ll hold a grudge.

 _We’ve only been surviving here under the cover of fools in love_ , Daichi wants to tell him, but there’s no use now. They’re safe under Amicora’s wing again. The Lord-General can’t touch them, _either_ of them, anymore. “We have to change to get ready for the ball,” Daichi says, attempting a retreat.

The King sighs again. Koushi looks pointedly away, and Daichi wonders if he knows what the King wants. “I’d only wanted to speak to you, since I’ve already made my feelings clear with Gen—your new husband,” he says, very much in the role of a parent with a misbehaving child. Daichi has done no wrong, and he has little patience left for his father’s condescension. But neither will he cause a scene by refusing him now. “The wedding took place in Setaria, and the wedding ball is the same. Their hospitality is generous and the ceremony itself did as it was supposed to.”

It had been a _lovely_ wedding and, despite Setaria’s sparsity with its decor and budget, the ball is already promising to be a fun night. Daichi spares his father an unimpressed glare. He’s no use for this pettiness.

“I know the matter of an heir is irrelevant now,” the King continues, massaging the furrow in his brow that Daichi feels no pity for, “but _please_ , Daichi, maintain a bit of decorum, would you?”

Koutarou breaks into ugly, muffled giggles, and Koushi’s expression barely hangs onto the edges of politeness for all the scorn in his eyes.

“Pardon?” Daichi asks, joke lost on him.

“You don’t have to worry about pregnancy. You will _not_ consummate the marriage on Setarian soil, am I clear?”

Koutarou breaks into peals of carrying laughter and he rolls in the air, clutching his sides.

“Koutarou, dismissed,” Daichi snaps, before his witch can point out how late the King is in his demand. Koutarou vanishes with one last guffaw. “I have not always appreciated his behaviors on this trip, too, so you know.”

“Can you blame me for watching over you from afar?”

Yes, Daichi can, considering Koutarou’s behavior had included outright betrayal.

“We still have our national pride, even with a treaty shared between our countries,” the King continues with a careful, calculated look at Koushi. “Allow us this much, Daichi. Wait until we return. Surely it can’t be _that_ difficult for you to restrain yourselves?”

Daichi stares at his father, still _mightily_ unimpressed with his gall. Perhaps facing down the Lord-General alone has given his spine some steel. Not that he’s necessarily needed it against his father…

“We will behave with decorum befitting our treaty and union,” Koushi says, wrapping his arms around Daichi’s, clinging to his side. His body language is defensive— _possessive_ —but his voice and expression are utterly neutral. “Please, continue to enjoy Setaria’s generosity during the remainder of your stay, Your Majesty.”

Daichi hopes his father and new husband aren’t going to remain as icy as this for the rest of their lives. (He also hopes that this does not negatively impact what _the rest of his life_ could mean for his father. Daichi does not yet trust Koushi on that front.)

“We must change now and prepare for the gifts. Please excuse us, Father,” Daichi pointedly adds.

The King knows a dismissal when he hears one, and despite the fact that he is answering to a Prince, he is now answering to a _married_ Prince. Ironically enough, it lends considerable weight to Daichi’s claim to the crown, despite the fact that he is wed to a man. Marriage, no matter what sort, means stability and true adulthood.

And his father wouldn’t risk yet another argument on Setarian soil. Appearances to keep up.

The King strides away, head held high, and Daichi lets out a breath of relief. Koushi sags against him with a groan nearly loud enough to be heard by the departing King.

“We’re fucking like rabbits,” Koushi flatly tells him, “the _moment_ we get enough privacy to soothe you. How long do we have before we must reappear?”

“Koushi,” Daichi scolds as Koushi begins to playfully push at the tied cords at his chest. “We have to change clothes. We do not have time to have sex.”

“I can change _very_ quickly, Daichi.”

“I’m not saying we’re not disobeying him,” he soothes, and Koushi side-eyes him with tentative hope, “but not right now. We have to get you presentable in very short order.”

 

—

 

Tradition dictates this: the first dance by the wedded couple, so that everyone else may dance after they set precedent; hors d'oeuvres to be served once the night is opened; spirits to be served only after the wedded couple have eaten from every dish; and finally, they receive their wedding gifts.

Daichi has had to deal with some form of this for every birthday and gala held in his name. They will not get to dance or drink or eat properly until well into the night, and he doesn’t look forward to sitting and pretending to be grateful for hours on end.

Koushi is bewildered by it all.

He keeps shooting mournful, _longing_ looks at the dance floor. His fingers tap along his thigh, and his shiny new boots _click_ against the hard stage beneath him. Their wedding gifts are piled around them, and the piles grow ever higher. They must remain the gracious hosts, and not only is Koushi _obviously_ unused to playing nice to nobility, but Daichi wonders at his usual manner of receiving gifts, too.

A sudden noise behind him makes Daichi jump. He finds Tetsurou behind his grand chair, a hand cupped around his mouth, looking quite devilish. “Snuck you food, my lord,” he whispers.

This, too, is commonplace in Daichi’s life. Practiced as he is, Daichi does not grin, and even manages to pop the spiced dumpling in his mouth between guests. Koushi is the only one who catches him chewing. “How did you do that,” he suspiciously demands, before snapping back into a smile to greet a Priash senator.

Daichi had hoped for a gryphon from them. He is disappointed, despite the lengths to which Asahi lectured him on the subject.

“Tetsurou has been sneaking me food all night,” Daichi guiltily confesses, and Koushi shoots him such a betrayed look, Daichi nearly forgets all other wrongs between them.

But with all the air of an irate royal, Koushi crooks his finger, and Keiji appears at his side. Daichi is somewhat surprised they had not been sneaking food and drink earlier, considering their penchant for stealth.

The evening wears on, both of them fed by their attendants. It becomes a game to try the most daring moves, and Daichi’s own pride destroys him, as he is caught with stuffed cheeks by his father. It’s a minor blessing that it is not someone else, but he doesn’t think the King needs more cause against Daichi’s life choices right now.

There are pleasant surprises, too, of course. The primary one is Alisa’s shocking appearance before Daichi; last he had heard, his father had not allowed her to join the Amicoran envoy due to her foreign status. She bows deeply before them, as is proper, but she’s all smiles when she comes back up. Lev is at her side, held in a steep bow by her iron grip on the back of his neck, though he cranes his neck despite that.

“Congratulations! I’m so happy I am able to be here tonight,” Alisa exclaims, all cheer and brightness. She finally allows her brother to stand straight beside her.

“I’m glad as well,” Daichi replies, “but I’d heard you weren’t allowed…?”

“My mother, the Lady Haiba, sends Lev and I on her behalf. She thought it a good idea, considering our current living situations,” Alisa says. Daichi knows it had been her idea to suggest it. He finds it a good idea, too, and he cannot help grinning back.

“Thank you for coming all this way. We’re grateful for your presence and your gift,” Daichi replies by habit.

Alisa adds something else, in her native tongue, too quick for Daichi to catch. Koushi cocks his head to the side, seeming amused, and nods.

“So have you two decided how you will use your blanket?” Lev asks. Loudly.

“What blanket?” Daichi asks, confused for just a moment, while Koushi snickers and Alisa turns scarlet.

“ _Lev_! How—how _dare_ you—”

“Daichi, have we decided?” Koushi asks between his chuckles.

He remembers, belatedly, that the church had gifted them the customary wedding night blanket. To bless the bed, and, when a baby arises from a union, to be swaddled in. Daichi scrubs a hand over his suddenly _very_ warm face and wishes he had enough alcohol to take this conversation from his mind.

“It’s a good question!” Lev protests as Alisa struggles to drag him away and bow apologetically at the same time. “No one will get pregnant, so what are they going to do with the blanket?”

Koushi laughs harder the longer it takes Alisa to pull him away.

Tetsurou and Keiji both duck up onto their platform to try to deliver food, savagely elbowing each other, but Koushi is laughing too hard and Daichi wishes for something stronger. “Next time, bring the ale,” he sighs.

“Ooh, _now_ it’ll be a party,” Tetsurou says with obvious delight.

Surely, wherever he is in the ball at the moment, Asahi is having a premonition of evil deeds.

Keiji suddenly darts behind Tetsurou, edging out behind the dais with his shoulders behind his ears, and Tetsurou leans around Daichi’s chair to investigate. Koushi’s laughter abruptly dies. Daichi wishes, more than ever, he had something to drink.

Lord-General Oikawa approaches them, flanked by her two children. Daichi supposes she has dressed up for the evening; in addition to her uniform, she has pinned up her hair, and wears a single jeweled barrette in her braid. The only jewelry Daichi has ever seen her wear are the earrings signifying her rank.

“Congratulations on your happy marriage,” the Lord-General tells them with a smile. Daichi almost believes the smile. “Despite the political circumstances, I’m happy you two are able to find some joy within each other.”

“Thank you,” Daichi cautiously replies. Tetsurou ducks out from behind him, leaving he and Koushi to face her alone.

“Thank you for your support,” Koushi adds. “Even considering this as a political union, I am glad to see that you have supported our choices.”

On her left, Tooru’s expression dips a little darker. The Lord-General’s eye twitches, but her smile remains in place, unaffected. “I have only sincerely wanted peace between our nations. I’m so glad to have found allies in this endeavor, and I look forward to working with you in the future toward this goal.”

“Congratulations,” Mei and Tooru say together, offering small bows.

To Daichi’s surprise, Koushi does not say anything snappish, nor play coy. He asks them, “Where’s Hajime?”

The Lord-General’s expression finally flickers, but it is Tooru who replies, “Playing nice with the other witches.”

“Playing at security,” Mei adds, quietly.

Daichi realizes he has not seen Koutarou for some time, and has not seen Kenma since before the wedding ceremony. He feels cold with dread.

“Relax, Highness,” Tooru says with a blatant roll of his eyes. “No one’s trying to incite anything. That would go against the entire point of today, wouldn’t it?”

“Daichi,” Koushi hisses and grabs his hand when he makes to stand. He has to find Koutarou. Even if Koutarou is not antagonizing Hajime or Yuu, even if _they_ are playing polite for the sake of company or orders, Daichi does not trust Kenma and Koutarou to behave in proximity to one another.

“We didn’t mean to alarm anyone,” the Lord-General says like she disapproves. “I can personally assure you, Your Highness, Hajime will not act out of bounds tonight. I’m certain General Tanaka’s… brother will behave with similar goodwill.”

Daichi cannot very well say that he’s worried about his _own_ , not to that vile woman, and Koushi’s hand tightens on his. He reluctantly sits back down.

As soon as they’re gone, Tetsurou is at his elbow again, but this time with no gifts of his own. He squats between their chairs, and with a terrible grin and an even worse drawl, he says, “My lord, you _wound_ me.”

“I’m about to,” Daichi replies.

“Asahi _was_ in charge of entertainin’ Kou, but honestly, Akaashi’s doing just as good a job as anyone else. Between him and the King, Kou’s nice and distracted, until you get to dance with him.”

“I’m worried about _Kenma_ ,” Daichi says, and Koushi immediately starts scanning the crowd, looking for a head of bright gold.

Tetsurou sighs, and pats Daichi’s hand. “So little faith in those you love, hm? _I_ can handle Kenma, my lord.”

“That remains to be seen.” Kenma hardly behaved when he was listening to royalty, those used to witches and used to giving orders. Tetsurou’s only controlling air comes out by accident, and he’s too softhearted to be stern with someone as cute as Kenma. Daichi _knows_ Tetsurou’s type.

“Who do you think has been sneakin’ _me_ all the food? We’re doing just fine. I’m teachin’ him to waltz.”

“You can’t waltz,” Daichi replies with a surprised laugh. “I mean—Tetsurou, I’ve danced with you. You’re terrible. You shirked all your lessons with me.”

“And Kenma has never been asked to a ball before,” Tetsurou primly replies. He stands to his full height, uncaring of the fact that he’s standing on the royal dais with them, and spares Daichi a roguish grin. “We’re managin’ fine for a night, Daichi. Let yourself have one night without worryin’ yourself into the ground. I’ll send Asahi with the booze for ya.”

Tetsurou ambles off, and Daichi both marvels at and detests how well his men know him.

“Is everything alright?” Koushi asks in concern.

“I think it will be,” Daichi admits. It has been a long time since he’s thought so, but with the marriage cleared and with Tetsurou and Asahi back at his side, maybe it _will_ be alright.

 

—

 

As soon as they’re done receiving everyone and their wedding gifts, and the party is opened completely, Koushi is running so fast toward the dance floor he leaves Daichi behind.

They’ve already had their first dance at the start of the evening, but traditionally, they’re supposed to dance together again. Daichi catches him before Koushi causes a scandal, and somehow, they end up swinging into a vals together. Daichi ends up leading purely to keep Koushi in his arms, but Koushi melts into him with a pleased sound soon enough.

“This is what I thought being royalty would be like,” Koushi admits. “Lavish balls, dancing the night away…”

“You’re a romantic about surprising things,” Daichi replies.

“You know me, now. You know this is all romance to me.” Koushi beams up at him, and steals a quick kiss after a turn. “I intend to capitalize, Daichi. Give me _all_ of the romance.”

Daichi dips him in retaliation. Koushi’s eyes flash, like a predator caught by surprise, but Daichi pulls him back up with a grin a moment later. “Your dancing is rusty. Work on that before asking for things you can’t handle,” Daichi informs him, to Koushi’s outrage.

Koushi tries to steal the lead from him, several times, but Daichi outwits him at every (literal) turn. By the end of the song, they’ve garnered more than a little attention, and both of their faces are flushed with mirth and exertion. Daichi can’t tear his eyes away from Koushi’s, so close, despite everyone around them. They’re married now. They’re supposed to be fools in love.

Before Daichi can lean in again, a hand taps his shoulder. “May I cut in, Highness?”

To his surprise, the interloper is the one he’d tagged as the least problematic Oikawa, Mei. All of the Generals wear formal dress uniforms, but she is one of the few who is more lax on etiquette. Her hair is pinned up with long pins with dangling jewels and beads, her skirt has been hiked up to a shocking level, and her jacket has been unbuttoned completely, presumably to make her more comfortable.

Koushi hands him off with a wary look, and the band starts up a slow waltz.

Mei does not have the height her mother or brother do, and over her head, Daichi catches sight of Koushi dancing with Alisa.

“I’m surprised you aren’t asking about the blood reparations,” Mei remarks, and Daichi takes a moment to pray for patience. “Even considering the day’s events. Congratulations, again. I hope you and General Sugawara will be happy together.”

She knows Koushi is an assassin, and she knows what his goals had been. Daichi finds her words repulsive, but he won’t run his mouth for nothing. “Thank you, General. But I would appreciate it if you do not refer to Koushi by his old rank anymore. By rights of the marriage as well as the treaty, he’s not part of the Setarian military any longer.”

“My apologies, Highness,” Mei replies, and to her credit, she does sound apologetic.

“Why did you immediately bring up the reparations?” Daichi asks, then winces at himself. Of course she would. She’s now directly affected by it.

“You mentioned in the council room that you would personally see to the care of my child,” Mei says in a low voice, “and while I don’t wish for you to take this as ingratitude, I found the notion offensive.”

“I apologize,” Daichi replies, and he means it, too. “That wasn’t my intention. I only wished—”

“You wished to cow my mother and use me as a weapon against her,” Mei interrupts.

Daichi stares down at her, taken aback.

“I’m so very tired of pretenses, Highness,” she tells him.

“As you wish, then,” Daichi allows.

“I already have a son. I find the fact that you ignored this cruel at best. Moreover, any child of mine will be Setarian, and no matter the generosity, they will be raised by our people. I would die for the good of my country, as I’m sure you would, too. But I found your motivations spiteful and callous. Also, surprising, considering how concerned you’ve been about further violence.”

“No matter how kind, every dog will bite when threatened,” Daichi coldly replies. “If we’re dropping pretense, General, then you _must_ be aware of how ruthlessly your mother cornered me in those so-called negotiations. What else did you expect me to do?”

“I find it concerning that you would so quickly buckle to your father’s machinations.”

“I would side with blood any day.”

Mei averts her eyes, her mouth a thin, grim line. “I understand that. That said, you’ve targeted a pregnant woman, and I worry for your conscience.”

“I targeted an _enemy General_ ,” Daichi corrects. He will not let her guilt him for this, not so overtly. “General Kai is also now included in your Council’s count. If you were all so concerned for your own lives after the war, then why did you suggest the blood reparations to begin with?”

Daichi knows why. Koushi is why. The blood reparations have always been a threat, a wedge to drive between he and his father, something to withdraw as a generous gesture of sympathy for the new King. But he wants to know what answer she will give him; he wants to know what lie he’ll be fed next.

Mei meets his gaze without fear, and her eyes are hard as steel. “You know why, Your Highness.”

 

—

 

“They know you told me. Or they suspect,” Daichi says as soon as Koushi rejoins him for a mazurka. (It becomes immediately apparent that Koushi doesn’t know this dance. Daichi would find it amusing in other circumstances.) “They know I know what—who you are.”

“Koutarou had to watch me to keep Hajime away,” Koushi reminds him. “We already thought as much. This shouldn’t be a surprise, Daichi. Setaria has _always_ wanted the King of Amicora deposed—or worse. Please, relax for a night. Mei is only trying to upset you. They’re mad you’ve won.”

“How have I _won_?” Daichi hisses at him, and accidentally spins him a little too hard. Koushi stumbles back into his arms, and the nearest Lady titters rudely. “Sorry, sorry. This is just… not what I wanted today to be.”

“Do not let them ruin this for us,” Koushi tells him. “Put it from your mind, _kvana_.”

Daichi’s face warms. “And when will you tell me what that means, _priuko_?” Daichi asks in return.

To his dismay, Koushi doesn’t seem half as affected as Daichi is by foreign tongues. Damn him. But neither does he understand it; Koushi cocks his head to the side, and asks, “What does that mean?”

“It means husband. I’m telling you because it’s the kind thing to do.”

“I’ve rarely been accused of being kind, _kvana-smys_ ,” Koushi says with a sharp grin. “ _Smys_ means spoiled, though. Because I’m kind enough to tell you.”

Daichi debates trying to bite him when he leans up for a kiss, but he supposes that would cause the wrong kind of scandal. It may also give Koutarou undue ideas about how to busy himself tonight as well.

“You know what was kind of _you_?” Koushi continues, dropping his voice into something Daichi finds both wonderful and dangerous for their public setting. “The rings—they’re lovely.”

“Oh.” Daichi is taken aback, but he’s still pleased Koushi likes them. He’d only seen the finalized project, and trusting his father to commission the plans properly had concerned him more than Daichi would now admit. Daichi smiles at Koushi, and decides he probably won’t bite him tonight. “I’m glad you like them. Father insisted on gold, so again, the color was the compromise.”

Over his shoulder, Koushi extends his hand, examining his ring. Daichi does not know what kind of material was used, but he knows it’s not metal, especially not a soft one. Unlike their crowns, their rings match. They’re both a delicate, pale gold color, with a white sapphire laid into the middle of both. Daichi’s is ringed with amethyst, so he has all of the royal colors, but Koushi’s is just the single stone.

“They’re beautiful. It’s all beautiful,” Koushi says with a smile so adoring that Daichi’s cheeks warm again.

“Be careful, or you’ll end up the spoilt one,” Daichi replies.

“I can get used to unicorn horn and topaz,” Koushi sighs dreamily.

“Yes— _what_?” Daichi nearly stops their dance, steps faltering, and Koushi stumbles again. “They’re _what_?”

“They’re not metal,” Koushi replies, nonplussed, as people begin to murmur around them again. “What did you _think_ they were made of? These are definitely unicorn horn. I’d thought them a joke about your inclinations toward magical friends.”

Daichi might not bite Koushi tonight, but he’s certainly going to bite _someone_.

“Will stresses never cease,” Koushi groans, and drags Daichi back into dancing. He hands him off to Asahi, who spends their entire minuet scolding him for _already_ neglecting his husband.

 

—

 

“You seem to have gotten exactly what you’ve wanted,” Suguru has the gall to say when he catches Daichi alone for a moment. Daichi glares at him, but Suguru is quick to put up his gloved hands in surrender. “You’ve gotten your witchy secrets, you’ve married the man you’re colluding with, the Lord-General has been temporarily thwarted, and His Majesty believes me firmly in his pocket. He believes you loathe me entirely.”

“Don’t I?” Daichi asks.

“Don’t mix personal feelings with business, my lord. I’m useful to you, and you’re useful to me. Let’s not lose any more tempers.”

Perhaps Daichi _should_ have had him whipped. It could have kept up appearances. “Have you come to gloat, then? You get to maintain your status _and_ have secured a future with your Lady.”

“A true pity she could not have attended the ceremony,” Suguru sighs, sounding genuinely put-out, “especially to show her loyalty. She’s overjoyed you’ve found someone you care for. I daresay she’s a romantic, too.”

“A dying breed,” Daichi mutters. He doesn’t _feel_ like a romantic after the night before. He doesn’t feel like a romantic, keeping Koushi close to have an edge over the Lord-General, making deals to secure spies, or smuggling assassins into his staff.

“I know my own marriage is still but a speck on the horizon, but Lady Yamaka has asked me to extend an invitation to you, for you and your new husband to visit her in Alcaledo. I’m certain she wants to extend her personal thanks,” Suguru tells him.

Daichi nods along, until he realizes what Suguru is actually saying: the Lady ruling over one of their largest provinces wants to see Daichi, not his father, to speak with him.

He’s been so distracted with Suguru’s games he’s nearly forgotten what power Lady Yamaka has in her own right. Daichi may not be making headway with the knighthood, and the blood reparations hang over their head like a guillotine’s blade, but he cannot afford distractions when it comes to amassing independent power.

He didn’t have enough to stand up to the Lord-General this time, but with Koushi no longer her pawn, Daichi must be prepared for her second plan of attack. He can’t hide under his father’s wing forever.

“How fortunate. The southern palace is a day’s ride from the city,” Daichi replies with a forced smile. Suguru’s return smile is far more practiced. “I’d been hoping to take Koushi there for our honeymoon. I want some warm weather after all of this dreary Setarian business, and I’d love to show him the ocean.”

“I’ll let her know. I’m certain she’ll be delighted with whatever schedule works out.”

Daichi is ending up with two masters of close-range combat and stealth, a new General of his own, the secret to finding the third witch, the man who has his own witch bonded to him, and a grateful spymaster and his noble soon-to-be fiancée. He wonders if he did end up ahead, after all.

 

—

 

Koushi teases him about their lack of dance cards again, but he shamelessly steals him for more than his polite share of dances, even with them as the celebrated newlyweds.

“If you wish to ask the lady to dance, you have to _ask_ her,” Koushi advises, watching the way Daichi keeps glaring at the Lord-General over his shoulder.

“I’m trying to think of a witty way to tell her that we have Akaashi. We stole him from under her nose. Just like I stole _you_ ,” Daichi tells him with a fierce kiss against his cheek. Koushi flushes prettily, pleased by his possessiveness.

“You didn’t steal me. I was always meant to be with you,” Koushi replies.

Daichi draws away from his glaring match long enough to meet his eye. Koushi reddens further when he realizes how he phrased it.

“You know what I _meant_. Nothing about my presence at your side upsets that woman,” he amends. “And I’ll think on your issue, too. Perhaps I can help you with that much.”

“You’re helping plenty. But do let me know if you think of something. I want to have the last word,” Daichi growls.

“How much have you had to drink?” Koushi asks with a laugh.

It isn’t Daichi’s fault. Tetsurou is usually problem enough, but he’s balanced by Asahi’s prudence when it comes to alcohol; Tooru keeps sending Daichi witch wine, thinking himself clever.

“You don’t have to drink what he sends you.”

“And risk his teasing? Never.”

Koushi rolls his eyes, indulgent and fond, and the song ends. “You’re right. Surely there is no worse fate than Tooru’s merciless teasing. Also, I’m proud of you for remembering that _I_ am the only one allowed to tease you now. That’s the purpose of the ring—forget all that treaty nonsense.”

“Tetsurou will take issue with that. And don’t go choosing poor battles—you know who dotes on him. _Two_ whole witches now. Poor bastard.”

“Let’s keep a little quieter about things like that, hm?” Koushi says and kisses Daichi on the mouth to coax his silence. “Do you want to tell just the Lord-General? It could just be a matter as simple as letting him appear before her. She won’t call him for what he is at this stage of things, and not in front of your father.”

This is how Daichi chooses Keiji as his next waltz partner.

Keiji is less than pleased, begging inexperience, but it seems they have a common weakness in the form of Koushi. Despite the fact that it looks strange for such a height difference, and despite the fact that Keiji has no sense of rhythm, and despite the fact that he holds too tightly onto Daichi’s hand, the dance is worth it. They _both_ take vicious pleasure in the particular shade of ashy white Lord-General Oikawa’s face falls into.

“I’m spectacle enough for your entertainment,” Keiji says after stumbling through a turn, “but before I leave your company, Your Highness, I would like to make one thing _very_ clear.”

“Koutarou and Kenma will behave themselves, and the Lord-General will not harm you so long as you are one of my men,” Daichi assures him.

“Touching,” Keiji flatly says, “but irrelevant.”

“Then what would you want of the Crown Prince? Everyone wants _something_ , but surely an assassin will surprise me.”

Keiji frowns at Daichi’s tone of voice, but he doesn’t mean harm. “Koushi has thrown his lot in with you, and we’ve long since thrown in ours together. I don’t _want_ anything from you except exemption from past jobs and Koushi’s happiness.”

“Of course,” Daichi replies, chagrined. “I mean—I want that, too. It is a lot to be trusted with this sort of scheme, and I’m trying to do my best to be worthy of his trust. Both of yours. I know we’ve no fond feelings for one another, but know that my mouth works faster than my mind at times. Alcohol worsens it.”

Keiji relaxes, just a bit, and the song begins to wind down. “I know what alcohol can do to a man. I’m not blaming you for celebrating at a happy occasion.” Keiji leans down, until they’re a whisper apart, and Daichi is forced into eye contact. He swallows. “If it _ever_ comes to my attention that this decision of Koushi’s was a mistake on his part, I will do my best to rectify it.”

Daichi, thick as his thoughts are with so much wine in him, does not have to ask if that is a threat. He will also not disrespect Keiji in this one instance by trying to bully him back down. He’s looking out for Koushi’s best wishes.

“Make no mistake—this means completing _his_ job, with or without him. The King, and you and your witch, if we must go through you to do it. I will not be an enemy of two states, and I trust the Lord-General’s coin more than I trust your notion of love, Your Highness,” Keiji icily elaborates. “I know you think the sun and moon of your new husband, and he is a good man. But he would do the same as I. He just won’t trust you enough to tell you to your face.”

Keiji offers him a smile when the song winds down and he escorts Daichi back to Koushi, who is flanked by Tooru’s two guards with no Tooru in sight. Koushi is beaming, however, flush with alcohol and mirth. Tooru’s guards leer at Keiji.

“Well, well, well, look who’s risen from the dead,” one of them says.

“Hush, you two. You’re mad that Tooru was dragged off by his mother,” Koushi says with too much pleasure to be too smug.

“Yes,” says the other, “and we’re blaming _you_ lot. Didn’t know you had the stones, Highness, to dance on your wedding night with the man who tried to kill you.”

“Akaashi is a dear personal friend of Koushi’s. Wonderful artist, too. I was discussing commissioning our nuptial portraits,” Daichi lies, and Koushi collapses into giggles and snorts at the look on Keiji’s face.

“Yes, yes, you’ve won one over on us. Very daring, very clever, Your Highness.”

“Don’t come crying to Tooru again anytime soon if you decide you need a friendly face, Suga.”

They leave, after clapping Koushi too-hard on each shoulder, but he’s still laughing too hard to notice. He doesn’t appear to have noticed the threat at all, actually, for the way he clasps Keiji’s hands and beams up at him. “Keiji, _Keiji_ , you absolutely _must_ paint us!”

“I’m not a painter,” Keiji replies, affronted. “And I _won’t_ draw you lewd things anymore.”

“Daichi is too shy to pose for anything risque—”

“Koushi, we are _not_!” Daichi breaks in. “Have _you_ been taking all the wine Tooru’s been trying to send to me? I don’t think you’re drunk enough to warrant such vulgar conversation in a crowded party.”

“Then let’s leave the crowded party, shall we?” Koushi molds himself to Daichi’s side, smiling broadly, and begins to tug him insistently.

“Koushi,” Daichi scolds. His heart, however, is already beginning to falter. “Koushi, it’ll be too obvious. This is _our_ party.”

“I want to disobey my new King as swiftly as possible,” Koushi insists, and Daichi could have sworn that he heard Keiji _laugh_ behind him.

“I’ll go ensure there is something else to capture his attention,” Keiji says. Daichi turns to find him already retreating into the throng of people.

Partygoers titter and send them knowing looks as they catch sight of Koushi pulling Daichi through the party, but of course, no one moves to stop either of them. They’re perfectly allowed to do what they like, even if they don’t technically _have_ to consummate the marriage.

Asahi meets them at the western door, and makes sure they are close enough to hear his sigh. “ _Again_ , my lord? You’re beginning to have a streak with sneaking out,” he says, but he holds open the door for them as dutifully as ever.

“Koushi,” Daichi begins again as soon as the quiet of the hallway envelops them. Pairs and small groups are still present, partygoers looking for fresh air or some privacy of their own, and Asahi remains at their heels. “I thought you wanted to dance more.”

“We’re both tired,” he reasons. “Why not retire to bed?”

“We didn’t say farewell to anyone. Someone else is going to have to close the ball.” And Daichi groans to realize it will probably have to be his father, and he’ll make annoying assumptions about it. He has no issue disobeying the man on this particular verdict, but he does not wish to be blatant about it.

“Koutarou already volunteered his services,” Asahi says.

“Oh, I might actually want to see that,” Koushi says, cutting across Daichi’s despairing noise. “But see, the King can’t reasonably be mad at us when he has _that_ to contend with. Why does he expect such strictness to work when he has a stubborn, proud son and an unruly, bloodbound witch to watch over?”

“He has Kenma now, too,” Asahi adds. “Past incidents notwithstanding, he may prove to be the one who behaves the best between the three of them.”

“You can’t seriously be comparing me to _witches_ ,” Daichi complains.

Koushi laughs again, and despite a longing look in the direction of the ball, he begins leading the way as brazenly as ever. “In the few months that I’ve known you, Daichi, I can already safely say that you are _just_ as stubborn as any witch I’ve ever met.”

“Nearly as proud, too,” Asahi says with a cough.

“I forbid you two from conspiring against me like this.”

“Me? _Conspiring_? I don’t know what you’re implying, Daichi, but I take offense. I’ve never _conspired_ in my life,” Koushi says, but he cannot get halfway through before snorting. Even Daichi cannot help but crack a grin. It is just the alcohol, for the time being, but he’s relieved he can find humor in their situation.

Asahi bids them goodnight with his usual amount of indulgence when it comes to Daichi’s mischief. “Goodnight, my lords. Please, don’t do anything that would warrant calling Koutarou in here with you. Sleep well, if you ever get that far.”

“Go back to the ball, would you? You deserve to forget yourself in whiskey for a night,” Daichi halfheartedly snaps. Asahi chuckles when he shuts the door behind himself.

He and Koushi are alone, then, in a darkened, empty room, hands still clasped loosely between them. While lavish for Setaria, Daichi finds the room sparse to house a newly wedded royal.

“What _are_ we going to do with the blanket?” Koushi asks, and Daichi forgets his judgment in the face of their unconventional union. They both fall into more laughter, undignified and unafraid of each other. “It—we have to do _something_ with it, won’t we? It’s a valid question!”

“We’ll give it to Tetsurou and Kenma,” Daichi says, already imagining their faces. Kenma would likely attempt murder. Tetsurou may join him, once he was done laughing.

“I know what we can do with it in the meantime,” Koushi says with a suggestive arch to his brows, but when he leads Daichi over to the large bed, there are no further airs. “We’re sleeping now, Daichi.”

“ _Sleeping_ , really?”

“Unless you were sleeping during the ceremony, neither of us have slept in two days. We’re exhausted. You’re still drunk, too, and I know what witch wine does to a man.” Standing between Daichi’s knees, Koushi pushes at his shoulders until Daichi flops back against the bedspread. “I’ll give you a _very_ pleasant wake-up tomorrow, after we’re not dead on our feet.”

“This isn’t what I expected,” Daichi admits. He shuffles backward enough to give Koushi room, but Koushi kneels, and begins unlacing Daichi’s boots for him. “Koushi—Koushi, come up here. You don’t have to do that for me. We’re equals now, remember?”

“You went along with foolish plan after foolish plan to try to win this, and you’ve allowed this farce of a marriage on top of everything else. You gave me what I wanted.”

“You gave me what I wanted, too,” Daichi says. Koushi looks up at him, eyes dark in the dim room, touch feather-light against Daichi’s calf. “You gave me answers. You gave me your trust. Don’t treat me like the Prince now, after everything else, Koushi. I can undress myself.”

He pulls his other leg away from him, and with another odd look, Koushi stands again. He sits on the edge of the bed. “I had a very grand speech planned to tell you how much everything you’ve done has meant to me. But I can only recall half of it now, and I know for certain that it ended with a promise to honor you, but especially tomorrow morning.”

“ _That’s_ what I’ve come to expect from you. Don’t scare me like that—it is not like you to act so subservient. I’d like to be past that.”

Koushi lays down beside Daichi. They’re both laying the wrong way for the bed, and they’re both fully dressed, sans one of Daichi’s boots. Daichi’s circlet has fallen off onto the wedding night blanket. “I’d like to be past it, too,” Koushi quietly admits. “I’d like to stop acting, Daichi.”

“How much of it was an act?”

“Not much, anymore.”

“Then stop acting. You don’t have to be a whore, or an assassin, or a General anymore. You are my consort, and you can be free to do what you will. Except to kill my father.”

“King Daichi,” Koushi hums, and rolls onto his side, so he can curl against Daichi. “I vastly prefer that sound of that.”

“Prefer it in a few years. Prefer it when it comes naturally.” Daichi worries over Keiji’s words, but now is not the time to bring that up. He, too, turns, so he can face Koushi, and they stare at one another in the near-blackness of the room. Koushi’s hair still stands out so easily.

Daichi cups his face, smoothing some of the hair that has loosened back out of his eyes.

“ _Zevast, kvana_ ,” Koushi tells him.

“ _Praotorio, priuko_ ,” Daichi replies and kisses his forehead.

 

—

 

**END OF ACT TWO**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The third act begins.


	33. a tragedy need not have blood and death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry,” Koushi says, contritely, but with a sigh. “No, I haven’t yet grasped the gravity of what a permanent move to a new country means, just as I have yet to grasp what this marriage could mean. I’ve never thought of these things in anything but temporary terms, so it may be some time before I adjust. Have patience with me.”
> 
> “I’ve had enough patience to see us this far,” Daichi replies.

Koushi stares at the horse with thinly veiled distaste.

“Koushi,” Daichi whispers, “you must get on the horse.”

“I would rather continue the war.”

“ _Koushi_ , he is a _gift_ from my father,” Daichi hisses at him. “You’ll be tethered to Captain and I the entire time. It will be _fine_ , I promise you, but we must keep up appearances. You have to get on the horse.”

His father had truly meant no harm in the gift; Midnight is of fine stock, very well-behaved, and while not a warhorse befitting a general, a perfectly respectable horse for Daichi’s new husband. Except that Daichi’s new husband is horse-shy and has somehow managed to keep it relatively secret.

Koushi turns one last, beseeching look at Daichi. Daichi hardens his heart and stoops to offer Koushi his laced fingers to step up onto. Attendants shuffle, but Daichi has no problem helping Koushi with this. It’s probably best if he does.

Koushi sits in the finely decorated saddle with a painfully straight spine and the reins clenched in a white-knuckled grip. It occurs to Daichi that he has never seen Koushi on a horse by himself before.

Daichi pats the gelding’s flank and the horse barely flicks an ear at him. “See, that isn’t so bad!” Daichi soothes, and with one hand, beckons another attendant with Captain over. “It’s only until we’re out of the city. Then we’re breaking formation and we can ride in the carriage.”

“Why can’t I be carried on a litter?”

“You know they only do that for new births and when a new King gets crowned.”

The look Koushi sends him is _dangerous_.

Daichi glares right back up at him. “You will have to wait on that one. How did you manage formations with your men when you were a General?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Koushi replies.

“I _asked_ , didn’t I?”

Koushi leans down, as much as he is comfortable, and lowers his voice. “I was drunk or drugged half the time, and the other half, Hajime had the horse charmed. We tried to keep these appearances to a minimum, but Hajime thought it great entertainment.”

“It _is_ great entertainment,” says Hajime, suddenly right _there_ , crouched so lightly on Midnight’s flank that the horse doesn’t appear to notice him. Koushi, however, jumps, and then the horse nickers, causing further alarm. Daichi quiets him with a few pats. “You don’t spook about too much else, but this was so easy,” he adds with clear amusement.

“Hajime,” Koushi hisses, twisting in the saddle, complexion far paler than usual in his fear, “what do you want? I’m surprised you aren’t barred from seeing us. Where is Tooru?”

“About that,” Hajime says, glancing down toward Daichi, then scanning the rest of the Amicoran envoy, who begin to take note of his presence with increasing alarm. “Thanks to your little show with the assassin, Tooru is getting punished. I can’t say I’m pleased with either of you.”

Daichi opens his mouth to call for Koutarou, but Hajime sends him such an icy look that he freezes, words unable to form.

“You outmaneuvered us on that one, Suga. Congratulations,” Hajime says, with bright, cold eyes on Daichi, and no warmth in his voice for Koushi. “You got exactly what you wanted from us. So we can expect to get what we want from you, yes?”

Koushi sits impossibly more stiffly in the saddle. “Of course,” he replies without looking at Daichi.

“I hope you two argue about it all the way back to your foul country,” Hajime snaps. “Frankly, I hope you _do_ kill the Amicoran King, because he’s a right bastard and I am sick and tired of hearing Nanashi rail against him.” His eyes slide sideways, to some unknown, unseen thing that makes Daichi shiver. “But as I said, Tooru is getting punished for this. I don’t yet know how Nanashi will explain this, but you’re getting saddled with one of his men.”

“What? Why?” Daichi cannot help but ask. He’s seen such confusing glimpses into the inner strife of the Setarian Council of Generals, and Tooru has been both ally and foe during Daichi’s stay.

“No one’s happy about Suga’s decisions or how he’s played both sides in order to escape with his assassin,” Hajime says, and he reaches for Koushi’s head.

His wrist is snatched out of the air by Koutarou’s strong grip.

He stands on air and bares his teeth down at Hajime in a territorial facsimile of a grin. “Hel- _lo_ , Iwaizumi. You should know the rules—they’re _both_ under my jurisdiction, now. No touching.”

Koushi startles, edging away from them, and Midnight nickers in concern. Daichi continues calming the horse to try to prevent further panic.

“Aren’t you going above and beyond your duty? It’s only marriage. Not blood.”

“Some of us actually _like_ our friends, you know.”

Hajime wrenches his hand out of Koutarou’s grasp, then puts them both up in a gesture of surrender. “Just here to wish Suga well and warn you of Tooru’s impending breakdown. It won’t be a pretty sight, and I’m already upset it’s going to happen in front of others.”

Hajime disappears, and Koutarou vanishes a beat afterward. Koushi lets out a rattling breath and slumps in the saddle.

“That seems ominous,” Daichi sighs. “I don’t look forward to any sort of spy in our midst.”

“I don’t think it’s that. This is Tooru’s punishment, so the Lord-General is aiming for cruelty, not further subterfuge.” Koushi looks contemplative, just for a moment, but doesn’t say anything more.

At least with his thoughts occupied, he doesn’t seem so nervous on the horse anymore.

 

—

 

“Your Grace,” the Lord-General says with an incline of her head.

It takes Koushi a beat too long to realize that she’s referring to _him_. General Tanaka hides a snicker in her glove. General Washijou rolls his eyes.

The Lord-General stands before the remaining Council, all of them dressed in their awful black uniforms, and Daichi and Koushi must wait until formal farewells are exchanged. Then, the parade walk through Vierage, and then, _then_ they can finally be free of his place.

He only has to listen to this woman one more time.

Tooru avoids contact with all of them, but his eyes and nose are red, and he keeps rubbing at them with less and less subtlety. Hajime is nowhere in sight, thankfully, but Yuu remains at General Tanaka’s side, along with Commandant Tanaka. Daichi avoids Yuu’s wide grins most of all. The rest of the Generals wear varying expressions, but on the whole, everyone seems to be _tired_. Daichi certainly is.

“I apologize for the lateness, but with all other preparations, it had slipped my attention that you do not have a personal bodyguard,” the Lord-General tells Koushi.

Because an assassin with another assassin as his attendant _needs_ one.

“That won’t be necessary,” Koushi starts, but the Lord-General puts up a hand.

“I must insist. While the treaty and this marriage have been under unusual circumstances, it would give me peace of mind to know that you remain safe in Amicora.”

The King comes forward, astride his own horse, and Daichi has _never_ been more thankful for his father’s temper. “And _what_ are you insinuating about my country, Nanashi? Of course he will be safe. You’ve practically thrown him at us, and we aren’t going to—”

“ _Father_ ,” Daichi breaks in. “Koushi will be safe with us. I do believe he’s looking forward to a taste of royalty.”

“Hasn’t he already gotten more than a taste?” General Tanaka mutters, and the King turns on her with fire in his eyes.

“I have people I trust already in mind. I will appoint Koushi’s new personnel myself,” Daichi says. It is well within his rights, and while he hates being the piece tugged back and forth between them, in this case, neutrality helps him.

“You may reassign him as you wish, but I do insist that Koushi’s safety is ensured until you reach Amicora. We would not want anything to jeopardize this newfound peace of ours,” the Lord-General says, voice like iron. “Indulge the maternal concerns of an old General, Your Highness.”

Daichi has no recourse. If he refuses again, it will be personal insult. If he accepts, then Tooru will turn further against him, and who knows what sort of ramification _either_ option will lead to. He’s only had so much time to think on this, and not even Koushi can come up with ideas so quickly.

He sighs through his nose. Captain throws his head, happily echoing Daichi’s frustrations. “For your peace of mind, then, Lord-General,” he replies through gritted teeth. His father scowls as he passes them again, but he knows this is Daichi’s right to argue with her—or not.

For once, he almost wishes he could loose them upon each other and sneak quietly away.

“Captain Matsukawa, if you would come forward,” she calls, and the tall, dark-haired man next to Tooru steps forward. Daichi could have sworn he whispered something as he left him. Daichi recognizes him, of course, but he’s only exchanged a few words with him, most of them mocking.

“ _Captain_?” Koushi asks, suspicious.

“Because of his honorable reassignment, we thought it fit his rank reflect this.”

“So he is to remain a Setarian national?” Daichi asks, with hope. Tooru’s eyes shine.

“No,” the Lord-General curtly replies, “but we assume you will respect existing rank when you do your own personnel assignments and shifting.”

“I will do my best to respect the new bond between our countries, however that affects our new lives together,” Daichi flatly replies.

 

—

 

“Tetsurou gets to ride in a carriage,” Koushi says darkly as soon as they leave Vierage behind.

“Tetsurou is escorting Kenma,” Daichi replies. Not for the first time. “And Tetsurou is nearly as bad on a horse as you are. We are not inviting further trouble.”

“We should have refused Issei. Tooru is going to throw a fit, and despite what it sounds like, he _can_ and _will_ cajol Hajime into cooperation.”

“What’s so important about _one man_?” Daichi groans. He, too, would be upset if someone were to try to take Asahi or Tetsurou from him, but he wouldn’t try to reignite a war over it. He’s not certain if he would try to enlist Koutarou, either.

Koushi spares him a rather disapproving look.

“I know he’s magical,” Daichi defensively replies, “but I had been operating under the assumption that his specific connection to Tooru’s other lieutenant was all that was. Can he delve into anyone’s mind like that?”

“No, it was only them. Perhaps if you found someone else with that kind of magic, but… I don’t know.” Koushi sighs, slumps in the saddle again, and his horse flicks an ear. “While their magic is—was—useful for communication and spying purposes, that’s not why the Lord-General separated them. Ask Issei if you want more information.”

“When _don’t_ I want more information?” Daichi mutters to himself.

The King demands they are well out of the capital and surrounding lands before they break formation. By the time Koushi slides off his horse, his legs are trembling and he looks particularly rumpled. Daichi tries, very nobly, to hide his smiling while Koushi curses out the horse in several tongues.

“ _Julav-smali_ ,” Koushi says, and spits at the horse’s feet. “Daichi, I am turning my gift into a rug. It will get better use.”

“No, you’re not,” Daichi replies. He tugs his husband away from Midnight, and catches Asahi’s eye over Koushi’s head. It may be mean, but Asahi looks just as amused as Daichi feels. They are going to have to ensure that Koushi gets used to horses _eventually_.

And learns the language, and social norms, and Daichi has been gradually bracing himself for the prospect of briefing Koushi on his future plans to try to garner more power independent of his father. There is much to be done.

Daichi shares a carriage with Asahi, Koushi, and Issei, who gets shunted to Koushi’s side as soon as is feasible, thanks to the Lord-General’s overwhelming acting that morning. The King still appears displeased about his presence; Daichi wonders who is _not_ displeased by the situation.

Koutarou accompanies his father, again, and Daichi ignores his complicated feelings about the witch for the time being. Tetsurou is still regrettably assigned to Kenma’s side, and even more regrettably is that Keiji is sent to travel with them. Daichi prays for patience and Kenma’s indifference. He prays for Tetsurou, _for once_ , to hold his tongue in a volatile situation.

Even with so much to concern himself with, and so much hanging over their heads—blood reparations and closely confined enemies and the fallout from his father as soon as they are safely home—he cannot help but melt as soon as he is in the carriage away from prying eyes. Daichi sags in his seat, certainly unbecoming of a Prince, and rests more than a polite amount of his weight against Asahi’s shoulder.

He could sleep like this.

“I’m so pleased to see you have as much decorum as I would expect you to have,” Issei dryly remarks.

“We didn’t _ask_ for this,” Koushi says, near a scold. “We never wanted to separate you from Tooru or Takahiro. This is the Lord-General’s doing, and you know it. Do not be spiteful about it.”

“It was punishment for allowing you to get away with your precious assassin. What did you _think_ would happen when you tricked us?” Issei replies.

Koushi does not respond. While Daichi is more than comfortable against Asahi’s side now, he wishes he could pull Koushi to him and try to soothe the fierce furrow in his brow. He knows he ought to trust Koushi’s judgment on the situation, until he can figure out more about Issei and what, exactly, Tooru may do in retaliation, but Daichi has never enjoyed remaining quiet.

“How did you come up with so much blood?” Issei asks, breaking the heavy silence himself. “That was the part Hajime couldn’t figure out. Drove him up a wall, mind you. Tooru would have been greatly amused in other circumstances.”

Daichi knows. Koushi glances sideways at Issei. “The Lord-General did not _deign_ to tell you how assassin contracts are handled? It seems to me she is more spiteful than even I assumed.”

“It’s all irrelevant now,” Issei says with a shrug of one shoulder. The way he glares out the carriage window, however, reveals his true irritation with the situation.

“Why were you separated from General Oikawa?” Asahi asks, surprising Daichi. Issei turns to him with a dark expression. “No—I’m sorry, I meant why was it _you_? Is there any special meaning to that? I do not understand why she would give away a captain, even if the promotion was for show. Surely you would have had more use at General Oikawa’s side than thrown away for the sake of cruelty.”

“What do you know of cruelty?” Issei mutters and returns his gaze out the window. Asahi takes no offense to his tone, but Daichi does on his behalf, until Asahi puts a hand on his shoulder. “She told him to pick. The Lord-General didn’t care who it was, just that Tooru lost one of us. She would have promoted either of us. I went because I don’t cry as easily.”

“She should have promoted you long ago,” Koushi mumbles. Issei chuckles without humor. “I’m not stupid about military life, Issei. I knew she didn’t want either of you closer to Tooru.”  

“She didn’t want us closer to _her_. The magic only ever worked for me and Hiro, but having someone who can read the thoughts from another’s head? It’s enough to make any leader paranoid. She doesn’t like being paranoid about her own family. She has enough to be paranoid about.”

“Like General Washijou, or Tanaka?” Daichi quietly asks.

“If you were privy to so many of their arguments in the Council chambers, _imagine_ what it must be like behind closed doors,” Issei murmurs. “Imagine what someone who has seen the Council infighting firsthand could know. Wouldn’t it be foolish to have tossed someone like that away, to give someone like that a cause for revenge?”

“Very foolish,” Asahi agrees.

Issei sighs again. “Of course, I will hold my tongue. She knows that. Because if I collude with you, what will happen to Tooru then? Sorry, Highness, but no one gets to win this battle.”

 

—

 

The sun is setting, casting orange and red over the trees from over the hill, just enough light to ruin depth perception and make Koushi’s eyes look gold.

Others set up camp; Daichi finally relaxes, a moment, enjoying doing _nothing_. No more travel for the day, no more surprises in store. Koushi rests against his shoulder, and Daichi in turn rests his cheek upon his hair. The smell of smoke and the sharpness of chilly air fills their campsite. Horses nicker and people call orders to each other.

“ _Ekuguessui_ ,” Daichi says, pointing at the nearest fire. “It means campfire, the kind you cook with. Fires to warm are just _guessui_.”

“There is only one word for fire, no matter what kind,” Koushi replies. He sounds tired, but amused. Daichi will accept it. “ _Stroats_. Are you able to handle foreign language lessons without getting excited, Daichi?”

“ _You_ are the one who faces the prospect of learning a new tongue. …And Akaashi, and Issei, and Kenji, I suppose. Father will insist upon it, and likely forgo Continental entirely out of spite.”

“I don’t particularly wish to spend more time with the man than I must, so perhaps this will be an easy excuse to ignore him,” Koushi muses.

“No, _priuko_. You’re going to learn, and you’re going to enjoy Amicora. Have you come to realize that it’s meant to be your new _home_? That means until death parts us.”

“Whose death?”

“That is not a joking matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Koushi says, contritely, but with a sigh. “No, I haven’t yet grasped the gravity of what a permanent move to a new country means, just as I have yet to grasp what this marriage could mean. I’ve never thought of these things in anything but temporary terms, so it may be some time before I adjust. Have patience with me.”

“I’ve had enough patience to see us this far,” Daichi replies.

“I deserve some of the credit. Where would we be if I had not decided to throw caution and safety to the wind and jump wholly into your arms?”

Daichi takes the invitation and winds an arm around Koushi’s waist. “And I thank the stars for your indiscretion,” he agrees, warmly, and presses a kiss against Koushi’s hair. “But I will get you to assimilate properly. That means language and cultural studies.”

“It’s such a good thing that you will be busy with your own studies at the same time then, isn’t it?” Koushi sweetly asks.

Daichi draws away, because he does not trust sweetness in Koushi’s voice.

Koushi leans more heavily against him with a suspiciously amused chuckle. “ _You_ need to be brought up to standard, oh beloved Prince of mine. Akaashi and I have already discussed it. There are poisons you can become immune or resistant to, and your close-range fighting needs _much_ work. I would love nothing more than to stay by your side for the rest of our days, but it’s not feasible, Daichi. I will have no more attempts on your life.”

Before Daichi can splutter out a reply, he catches a glimpse of Koutarou and Keiji, near the other side of the fire. He appears agitated, but Daichi cannot hear what they’re saying from this distance, so he isn’t certain it’s an argument.

Just as Daichi deems this unnecessary to intervene in—they are in the company of many, and neither of them are foolish even when they bicker—Keiji puts his hand on Koutarou’s shoulder, as if to draw him back to face him.

Koutarou cocks his head just enough to bite off the fingers holding him.

Without missing a moment, Keiji pulls the knife from the sheath on his belt and buries it deeply into Koutarou’s eye.

They stumble away from each other, Keiji clutching his bleeding hand, and Koutarou suddenly staggering. He makes it two steps before collapsing. Lifeless.

Neither of them had yelled, and while Keiji appears pained, frustration tempers it as he crouches down next to Koutarou.

Daichi is moving before he’s aware of it. He only half-hears Koushi’s questioning sound behind him, but all of his attention has funneled into the sight of Koutarou laying so still. Koutarou is _never_ still, nearly never quiet.

By the time Koushi notices what’s happened, Daichi has almost reached them, and others in their party have noticed as well. Someone screams, someone else shouts for help. Keiji calmly reaches down and grabs not his knife, but his own fingers out of Koutarou’s bloodstained mouth.

Keiji looks up, eyes gleaming in the light of the sunset, as soon as Daichi reaches them. If Koushi’s eyes appeared gold, then Keiji’s are the sickly yellow of rot.

Daichi knows exactly how this will happen: he has sparse few moments before Koushi reaches them, and Koushi will aggressively take Keiji’s side. The King will be notified at once, and Keiji will be punished. Daichi himself feels the need to turn a blade on this man for what he’s done. Even if it is not by Daichi’s own hand, even if it had been Keiji’s own doing, Koushi will never forgive him for this.

Daichi will never forgive _Keiji_ for this.

Koutarou sits up like a puppet jerked upward. Blood and gore drip down the side of his face, caked with dirt and grass, from where his ruined eye had been. “You really _can_ kill me,” he whispers, not angry or surprised or scared.

“Get the healer,” Koushi orders as soon as he’s here.

Daichi has missed his window of opportunity to act without Koushi’s judgment. Keiji, still staring up at him with his mouth pressed thin against the pain, knows this.

“Someone, get Morisuke!” Koushi repeats, voice raised.

“Fetch the healer and notify His Majesty at once!” someone else barks.

Daichi must control this. He cannot lose Koushi’s loyalty so soon. “Koutarou,” Daichi says, choked, and Koutarou looks up at him with his mess of a face. Daichi wants to gag. “You have to go. I order you—I _forbid_ you from telling the King what just happened. He must not know Akaashi attacked you. You have to leave, _now_.”

“I was ready to resurrect, but growing back an eye isn’t something that happens overnight,” Koutarou sulkily replies. He pulls the knife out of his head, spilling more of his own gore down his cheek. His eye socket is empty now, trailing part of a vein and bits of what had been his eye, clear and pulpy. Koutarou holds up his free hand. “Remember how long _these_ took?”

“Koutarou, that was a direct order!” Daichi snarls.

Koutarou looks surprised at his tone of voice, then hurt, but then resigned. Daichi hates it all. He wants to apologize. Koutarou tosses the knife at Keiji—the hilt hits his boot—and disappears.

Keiji appears more guarded than ever, watching Daichi like a cornered predator, but Koushi’s own expression is tentatively hopeful. “Thank you—” he begins, but the commotion finally summons his father.

“ _What_ is going on here? What’s happened?” the King demands, striding with purpose into the chaos with his head held as high as ever. Morisuke trails half a step behind him.

Daichi is the highest-ranking person there; he will be expected to answer, and whatever his answer is, it will not be argued with. But he is uneasily aware of how many of his father’s knights are in the vicinity. Everything had happened so quickly, Daichi doubts everyone now present had seen the initial altercation, but surely enough unfriendly faces saw Daichi order Koutarou to leave.

“One of Koushi’s men,” Daichi begins, carefully, aware of how incriminating Koushi’s presence so close and protective to Keiji may appear, “got into an argument with Koutarou. Koutarou bit off his fingers, and I ordered him away to defuse the situation.”

The weight of many eyes on him is unbearably heavy.

The King, predictably, is unsympathetic. The glare he casts over both Keiji and Koushi is cold. “Shouldn’t even one from Setaria know better than to prod at a _witch_?”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Keiji replies while clutching at his bleeding hand and severed fingers.

“Morisuke, if you could—” Daichi begins, but his father cuts him off with a raised hand.

“Amicora does not forgive childish mistakes from those who know better,” he says.

Daichi grits his teeth so hard it _hurts_. “A lesson hard learned, Father, and I am certain kindness would do more than hard traditional values in our new friendship with Setaria. Morisuke, if you would _please_ tend to Akaashi.”

Morisuke looks between the two members of royalty. Daichi holds his breath, and releases it only when Morisuke steps forward. “We’ve all made mistakes here, and it is a healer’s duty to heal,” he says, and Daichi finds no trace of apology in his voice. “Excuse me, Your Majesty.”

His father is not pleased, but he does not press the issue further. He turns his glare on Daichi for one last moment, then out to the others staring at their scene. Staff get back to work without waiting for an order, most avoiding eye contact.

“You will personally ensure Koutarou’s punishment for this, then, I assume? Since you are so keen to defend your new _friendship_ even against old allies,” the King says, before departing once more.

Daichi closes his eyes and wishes for just a _moment’s_ peace. The situation is contained for the moment. He has not the _faintest_ idea what the repercussions of this may turn out to be. Koushi, for the moment, does not hate him, and Keiji is saved, yet again, from the gallows. Daichi wonders when his luck will run out.

“I can still reattach these,” Morisuke murmurs from where he’s kneeling next to Keiji, “but it will scar and it will not feel pleasant. I’ll need some water—”

Koushi rushes away, hand clapped over his mouth, and even Morisuke looks surprised.

Keiji sighs. “He is not fetching water.”

“I did not take him for a squeamish man,” the healer replies, perplexed. “My lord, I am going to need to overstep my bounds for a moment, and ask you to fetch water. No one else will come near us after _that_ confrontation.”

Playing errand boy is the least of Daichi’s concerns right now.

 

—

 

Daichi knows when they’ve first stepped foot back onto Amicoran soil, and he also learns that a witch’s magic has territorial limits, because three of the men they took from Setaria become ill. They must make camp early because of it, something that does little to please his father, but even he calms once Suguru dryly explains about the magic holding their tongues.

Koushi is the worst of them, but Daichi is surprised that even Issei seems affected. “I thought you were favored by Tooru,” he says, not meaning it accusatorily, though Kenji offers a wild laugh. “And _you_ , Commandant, why aren’t _you_ affected by this?”

“I was never foolish enough to get caught out by a witch and warrant magics to hold my tongue,” replies the man who’d had a witch gut him.

“How barbaric,” his father grumbles. “Do you see now, why I hold such low opinions of them?”

Despite how much Daichi wishes to agree with him, he cannot. “They’re our allies now,” he says instead. “There were extenuating circumstances. Trust is a commodity hard to come by, at times.”

“War is a hard thing, Your Majesty,” Kenji offers.

“Weak is the heart that resorts to such cruelties,” the King replies. Daichi sighs inwardly. “I will ask Morisuke to personally oversee their recovery. I would like to be on the road again tomorrow, am I clear?”

Daichi nods, tired despite the early hour. He almost cracks a smile when he sees Kenji make a rude gesture at his father’s back. He ought to reprimand him—a half-foreign, witch-raised man with a temper and a slyness to rival Suguru’s is no man Daichi should be permitting loose behaviors from—but he’s so tickled by the childishness that he will allow it. It harms no one.

Kenji seems pleased by Daichi’s permittance.

His smirk is unwelcome, however.

“Not that you heard it from me, but a mixture of heik flower blossoms and agrimony boiled with a little bit of honey would do much to help,” Kenji whispers as he passes Daichi.

Daichi is not so foolish as to turn down knowledgeable help, and he relays the directions to the healer. Despite Morisuke’s bewildered look, it appears to work, and at the very least, Koushi can stomach it and Issei becomes well enough to attempt to sass him again.

Daichi and Morisuke stay up for most of the night, keeping Koushi and Keiji’s fevers down, and trying to keep them hydrated. By daybreak, the worst is passed, and they set out again.

 

—

 

Daichi loves his father. He is his last remaining close family, and jointly, they are responsible for the whole of Amicora. Daichi misses his mother terribly, and he knows his father does, too, though they have kept their grief ever separate from one another. But family remains important to Daichi.

In Setaria, lost and confused and fighting against powers that seemed so much stronger than he, Daichi would say he missed his father. The King is a far sight more welcome than the Lord-General had ever been. Easier to understand, too, which Daichi cherishes now more than ever.

This all accounted for, however, Daichi decides that he misses his father no longer and is, by the time they arrive at the main palace, very much in need of distance between them again.

“Do you always argue that much?” Keiji asks with too much judgment for how neutral his tone is.

“Daichi has often complained about it, and judging from the fact that none of the staff seem perturbed by them shouting at each other, well.” Koushi folds his arms, and his judgment stings more than anyone else’s.

“So, why is it such an issue to remove him from the throne?”

“We may discuss that later.”

As much as he now appreciates their total honesty, Daichi does not _like_ their conversation. He wishes he could leave Keiji behind. The two trail him through the halls, other palace staff bustling about to unpack, but Daichi is aiming to pack again as soon as he gathers his own people again.

_Koushi, and Keiji. Asahi, and_ , Daichi pauses his thoughts with a frown, though he keeps walking. _Tetsurou_. Which means Kenma. Alisa has not yet returned from a personal stay in Canuste with her brother after the wedding, and he isn’t certain it would be proper to invite her. Not that it is any more proper to invite a witch.

He cannot take Yui. As delighted as she had been to see Vierage, she is a knight, and that means she is stationed here.

Koutarou had done as ordered and avoided his father, though the King had taken notice quickly enough. Kenma had made an offhand remark that Koutarou had returned early, on his own, and that had settled the matter. Now, Daichi is not certain where they stand, or what he may have to do to keep he and Keiji from destroying each other.

He does not know how to hide what Keiji had done, either.

But he finds the witch sitting with his ankles crossed on Daichi’s bed when he returns to his room.

Koutarou blinks both gleaming, gold eyes at him.

“It took you weeks for your hands to regrow,” Daichi says instead of greeting him.

Koutarou frowns at once. His frown deepens when he sees Koushi at Daichi’s shoulder—but falls away completely when he sees Keiji, after him.

“Kou, are you alright?” Daichi asks, in a gentler tone this time. Koutarou’s attention snaps back to him. “I’m sorry for what I asked you to do—for how I treated you. Thank you for obeying. Will you tell me how you’ve already healed yourself?”

“Well.” Koutarou looks around the room, smiling like he is embarrassed by Daichi’s direct questioning. He makes himself more comfortable on his bed, and Keiji huffs quietly. “Admittedly, I misbehaved a little. Tried to steal Kenma’s eye, because he has been a right bastard lately, and that’d serve him right for betrayin’ ya.”

Daichi sighs out his nose and makes a note to speak to Tetsurou and Kenma next. That conversation, now on safer ground, has been a long time coming, but he does not relish the thought of more witch in-fighting. “Kenma has remained with our envoy the entire trip. He still has… He’s still whole, Kou. What did you do?”

“Couldn’t do it?” Keiji asks.

Daichi would have hit him, if he had not seen the way Koutarou’s expression brightened.

“Oh, and have _you_ ever plucked out a witch’s eye? They tend to put up a bit of a fight! I also seem to recall _you_ losing a fight to Kenma, too.”

“I’m the one who ruined your eye to begin with.”

“You have no prize to show for it. Don’t like collecting trophies?”

“I’ve never had my own room to put them in before. Shall I start with what I cut off you next?”

Daichi catches Koushi’s eye from behind Keiji’s shoulder; he appears as bewildered as Daichi feels. “Kou,” he begins, butting back in with none of his usual confidence when it comes to speaking with Koutarou, “how are you healed already? Kenma is not going to start a fight again, is he?”

“No, no, we’re gonna avoid each other for awhile now. That’s easiest, right?” Koutarou sighs, and flops back against Daichi’s large bed, limbs spread as much as possible. “And that’s why you’re here tonight. You wanna leave me here.”

“I… don’t wish to _leave_ you. But I do believe it might be wisest if you remain here, at my father’s side, since I will be taking Tetsurou with me. I need to sort out how we will be handling their new binding, and I will be in no danger. It’s supposed to be our honeymoon.”

Koushi perks up a little.

Daichi massages the furrow in his brow. He already feels the migraine coming on. “I have much yet to do, and I frankly can’t trust you again so quickly. This is _not_ to say I trust Kenma over you—the opposite, if anything.”

“What if I said I didn’t trust you to be safe with him, away from me?” Koutarou asks.

“I don’t trust Father alone. I don’t think Kenma will jeopardize his relationship with Tetsurou, should anything happen he dislikes. And you’ll be just a call away.” He means it to flatter Koutarou, but Koutarou remains slumped on the bed, and Daichi cannot see his expression from here. “Please, Kou. I need to sort my thoughts.”

“Without _me_.”

“You consume far too many of my thoughts as it is.”

“Not enough, anymore,” he sighs, and vanishes from his bed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Daichi enjoys his honeymoon with Koushi, until he doesn't.


	34. blood in the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiji glances sideways at Koushi, and Koushi pretends to ignore him.
> 
> “You _can_ swim, right?” Daichi asks, because while he still does not understand how the two of them communicate so effortlessly, he does know that when one of them looks displeased, it’s something he ought to comment upon.

Despite the fact that winter is slowly encroaching in northern places like Canuste or Setaria, or even the main palace where he left his father and most of his familiar staff behind, this far south, the air is still warm and the sea is still pleasant.

Despite Asahi’s fretting.

“This time of year, _really_ , my lord?” he calls as Daichi and Tetsurou race each other into the surf. “You’ll both catch your death of cold yet!”

“You’re worryin' too much! This is _fine_!” Tetsurou calls back over his shoulder, just before Daichi catches him around the middle and they both go splashing into the water.

True, Daichi prefers the brightness and true heat of summer, but this is already _amazing_ compared to how he had shivered his way through his peace negotiations. This is a blessed break from everything his life has become. Daichi deserves this break.

Koushi and Keiji relax further up the beach, on a blanket spread on the sand, beneath another blanket to give them shade. Last Daichi had seen, Keiji had busied himself drawing again, and Koushi was playing at model. (Daichi wishes to see the end product, but he hasn’t yet worked out how to ask Keiji.)

Asahi stands with just his ankles in the water, not in swimwear but with his breeches rolled up to his knees, and watches over them with minimal fretting. Daichi plans on giving him another half hour before scolding him for not enjoying _his_ break, too. There is a reason Daichi had requested minimal staff at the southern palace; Daichi wishes to not be the Crown Prince for a while, and he wishes for _friends_ , not allies and pawns.

Kenma sits away from everyone, beneath his own raised blanket. Daichi doesn’t know what he is doing, but he imagines it involves a lot of watching Tetsurou.

“He told me he can’t swim,” Tetsurou says as soon as he follows Daichi’s line of sight. “Funny, right? But have we ever actually seen _Kou_ swim? Maybe it’s a witch thing.”

“I think he was lying to you,” Daichi replies.

“Kenma doesn’t lie. Neither does Kou!”

Daichi remains silent.

Tetsurou sighs, shoulders slumping. “Yes, I know what happened in Setaria. I haven’t gotten the chance to speak to Kou about it, either, but you know his reasons are… you know he has always been torn between you and your father. You can’t fault him for that.”

“I can, and I _will_ fault him for purposefully keeping information from me. Vital information,” Daichi snaps with more heat than he intends.

Not that Tetsurou minds it, but Daichi wishes he’d held his temper back.

“Asaaaaahi!” Tetsurou calls with a hand cupped around his mouth. “Our Prince is sulking again! Help me out, would ya?”

“Don’t tattle on me like he’s our nursemaid,” Daichi hisses and tries to grab at him. Tetsurou laughs and dances out of the way, and Daichi wades after him, water slowing them both.

Asahi reaches them before Daichi can catch Tetsurou. His breeches are wet, this far out, but he doesn’t mind them, nor strip them off. “Daichi,” he begins, like he _is_ their stern nursemaid. Tetsurou shoots Daichi a grin that Daichi does not return. “You wished for a break from the tension with your father and Setaria. Don’t sully that by ruining your own mood with thoughts of what is out of your hands.”

“Don’t scold me like I’m a child. I can’t help where my thoughts go, can I?”

“Sounds like you need a distraction for those wandering thoughts of yours,” Tetsurou says with much leering.

“Sand sticks everywhere if you have sex on a beach. _You_ of all people should have learned that lesson.”

“Tempting thought, but not what I had in mind!”

Asahi’s deep sigh should have tipped Daichi off for Tetsurou’s intentions, but he is distracted by Tetsurou seizing him around the shoulders and whirling him around. Tetsurou points over Daichi’s shoulders, up the coast, where the beach fades into rocks and growing cliffs, the palace a distant silhouette on the horizon.

“I will bet you a bottle of Yrachaask rye wine if you can beat me to the top of the tallest jumping cliff,” Tetsurou says with a grin _very_ clear in his voice.

“You have—?”

“It was _meant_ to be a wedding present, not a wager,” Asahi points out. “But yes, we got a bottle for you.”

“But you only get it if you beat me and stop your deep, dark, and useless worrying!” Tetsurou declares. “Really, it’s your own fault for telling us we needn't gift you anything. Now such a treasure is ours to do with as we please, and it pleases me greatly to hold it over your head.”

“It will only be yours for as long as it takes for me to win,” Daichi replies with equal parts competition and gratitude.

It is a path they have raced many times, but not so frequently in recent years. It is just far enough from the beach that it cannot be a full sprint the entire way, but the path is worn enough that they don’t have to stop to put boots back on. It is not as sandy as the beach is, mercifully, and they pause near the assassins’ blanket to invite them along.

“You wish to jump off a _cliff_ ,” Koushi says, shielding his eyes with a hand from the sun. “Daichi, we’ve spoken about your rash behaviors, and what could lead to your premature death. This sounds easily like one of those things.”

“Oh, are you protective?” Tetsurou exclaims in surprised delight. Kenma appears suddenly at his side, and without missing any timing, Tetsurou raises his arm so Kenma can fit himself against him. “You’re actually protective of him! Luckily for you, Your Grace, we’ve been jumping off these cliffs since we were children. Only broke a couple of bones.”

“Why do you make my title sound like a joke?” Koushi asks with narrowed eyes.

“He’s had a lot of practice,” Daichi says, soothing, and extends a hand to help Koushi up. “I promise you, this is safe. We know how to do it, and it’s _fun_. I’ll show you how.”

Keiji glances sideways at Koushi, and Koushi pretends to ignore him.

“You _can_ swim, right?” Daichi asks, because while he still does not understand how the two of them communicate so effortlessly, he does know that when one of them looks displeased, it’s something he ought to comment upon.

“Of course I can swim,” Koushi replies, nose wrinkled, and takes Daichi’s hand as if out of spite. “Keiji, come along. Unless you’re _frightened_.”

“I’ve jumped off of roofs into the docks in Mun Tarik,” Keiji replies. He closes his sketchbook and tucks it out of sight, beneath a corner of the blanket. This far from the palace and any cities, there is no one around, but Daichi will not comment on Keiji’s caution.

Even if he still desires the drawings.

He can ask Asahi to grab it for him, later.

“Lord Kozume,” Asahi begins.

“Kenma,” the witch flatly corrects. “That title makes my teeth itch.”

Daichi isn’t certain how that works. From Asahi’s expression, it seems he doesn’t know, either. “Tetsurou informed us you cannot swim. Would you like to learn how?”

Tetsurou grins down at Kenma, and Kenma _angrily_ winds his arms tight around Tetsurou’s waist. “No.”

“I’ve been offerin’ the entire trip here. I think he might melt or something. He doesn’t even like taking baths with me, did you know?”

“I thought Amicora _had_ shared bathing,” Keiji whispers to Koushi.

“They do, but I’ve stopped asking questions,” Koushi whispers back.

Daichi rolls his eyes, but fondly.

 

—

 

Daichi purposefully trips _right_ near the end of the race. Tetsurou pulls on ahead, and wins—and immediately whirls around in a panic. “But _you_ were supposed to—!”

“I _knew_ it,” Daichi says, panting but grinning hard. “You tried to throw the race!”

“Don’t say I’ve never been kind to ya,” Tetsurou replies.

“Then give me the rye wine though I lost.”

“Did I ever say I was _that_ kind? I want to see if I can get a witch drunk, perhaps.”

“We’ve _tried_ that.” Throughout the years, they have wasted a great deal of good alcohol attempting to get Koutarou intoxicated. He drinks it all willingly, but they’ve never been able to get so much of a sign of drunkenness. “You are not wasting good wine on a witch.”

“Asahi and I will drink it _all_ ourselves, then.”

Daichi _had_ planned on sharing it with his men, but now he rethinks that, and he knows it’s plain on his face.

Tetsurou quickly backpedals. “Look, we’ve made it all the way up here, and it’s been what, four years since we’ve done this?”

“Five, I think.”

“No, it was four, because that was the year we snuck into _Emeraldis_.”

Daichi cannot help but laugh at the memory. “Oh, you’re _right_. I can’t believe that _worked_!” Asahi had been _furious_ with them, for sneaking away by themselves, even without Koutarou. To Daichi’s knowledge, his father had never found out, however. He didn’t think even Koutarou knew. Unfortunately, sneaking into a play only ever performed for women isn’t something he can brag about, so it’s been a fond, shared secret between just the three of them.

“Are you two going to jump, or are you enjoying fighting the wind for your conversation?” Keiji calls up to them.

Tetsurou makes a rude gesture, but he and Daichi are still grinning at the entertainment of nostalgia.

Daichi has always liked the summer palace. It had been his mother’s favorite, and he’d visited yearly as a child. His father hasn’t visited since she had died, but as Daichi grew, he’s come to value it as a haven of his own. It may be an unfair thought, but he cannot help but think of it as an old present from his mother, to let him have his space from his father.

“Asahi, do you remember the time we snuck out to see _Emeraldis_?”

“How did you two see _Emeraldis_?” Koushi asks.

“I’m sure Prince Daichi enjoyed using his royal weight,” Keiji mutters.

Asahi sighs, and he _tries_ to make it sound stern, but it comes out as amused. “If only it were that simple. No, these two fools dressed up as women to sneak in. _Somehow_ , they did not get caught, though I can assure you, neither of them know how to paint their faces with any semblance of skill.”

“I still don’t know how, truth be told,” Tetsurou admits without shame. “But I will wear loose skirts over uniform pants any day. Women get to wear flat shoes, too. Great play—we should see a play while we’re here! Kenma, let’s see a play in Talade.”

Kenma nods, yet somehow, he makes the gesture seem noncommittal.

Koushi steps forward to smile sweetly at Daichi.

“Yes, we can see something, too,” he says before he’s asked.

“Actually, I was going to ask if we were going to do your foolish jumping now. This sun is hot, and I’m going to burn.”

Tetsurou does not wait to allow Daichi a response. He hauls Daichi up and tosses him, and Daichi can only offer an undignified yelp before he tumbles over the edge. The last thing he hears is Tetsurou’s laughter before the rushing wind steals it away.

Daichi manages to get his feet beneath him before he hits the water. It has been years, and it is not the hot summer months he’s missed, but he’s unprepared for the way the water steals the breath from his lungs. He breaks the surface again with a bit of coughing and more than a bit cursing.

Not that he’ll let Asahi know he thinks it’s a _little_ cold.

Tetsurou jumps, and Daichi gets out of the way of his landing, only enough to ensure that he is close enough to splash him as soon as he surfaces again.

But Tetsurou drags him beneath the water instead.

They squabble like children, kicking and splashing and wrestling, and it’s a wonderful time that Daichi doesn’t have a single worry in his head outside of dunking Tetsurou again.

Soon, however, they break apart, treading water and catching their breaths.

It is then that they realize their folly.

Daichi cranes his head up at the tall cliff before them. Usually, Koutarou is here, and they can cajole him into carrying them back to the top without having to swim all the way back to the beach. Koutarou is not here. Kenma is, but Daichi would rather make the swim than ask him for help.

“ _Kenmaaaa_ ,” Tetsurou calls, plaintive and pathetic, up at the cliff.

Kenma’s bright gold head disappears from view as he avoids Tetsurou.

“How is your odd courtship going?” Daichi asks. While he knows Kenma and Tetsurou tease each other with odd familiarity that gives Daichi so much pause, he has not had much time to actually just _talk_ with Tetsurou. Or Asahi, for that matter, but being partially reassigned has stolen Tetsurou’s time considerably.

“Better than how I know it must appear to an outside view,” Tetsurou replies with such a grin that Daichi cannot help but be reassured. “He’s sweet, in his own way. Once you know how to speak with him, he’s easy to befriend. And it is not as if that clever page boy is _gone_. He just has a sharper tongue and less respect than before.”

Exactly what Daichi wants in his life.

But he will allow Tetsurou his happiness.

Eventually, Tetsurou manages to convince Kenma to help them back up and not make them swim all the way back. He is not as quick as Koutarou to lift them with his magic, and the cool breeze licks at Daichi’s wet skin, making him shiver.

He and Tetsurou make a show of huddling for warmth as soon as they are on solid ground again, merely for the way Asahi frowns at them.

“We were discussing the smaller cliffs,” Asahi says with a point down the coast, “for Keiji and Koushi to try, and so your swim back to land is not so long that you will tempt fate by bothering Kenma unduly.”

Kenma turns from them, using his hair to hide himself, but petulantly mutters, “Tetsurou is not a bother. The prince is, though.”

“That is the _opposite_ sort of mentality you ought to have.”

“We can switch to the small cliffs,” Tetsurou breaks in with a put-upon sigh.

“When do we retire for the day?” Koushi asks while fanning himself. He walks along at Daichi’s side, and to Daichi’s surprise and amusement, he can see a bit of a pink flush already on Koushi’s exposed skin.

“Are you _hot_?” Daichi asks.

“Warm. Burning. Going to complain for the rest of the night if this turns into something bad,” Koushi replies.

“Take off your shirt?” Tetsurou suggests.

Koushi pretends not to have heard him.

Daichi rests his arm over Koushi’s shoulders, and whispers to him, “We can visit, just the two of us, later in the week. Then will you be less shy?”

“It’s not shyness.”

“Asahi and Tetsurou—and Kenma—know everything I do.”

“Yes, and while I will not argue with where you place your trust, it does not mean I have to enjoy it.” Koushi carefully shrugs Daichi’s arm off his shoulders, but instead takes his hand, and entwines their fingers between them as they walk. “We can have your beach date tomorrow, rest assured.”

The shorter cliffs, the set of two points flat enough to make for perfect jumping spots, are just over half as tall as the other set. There are a few jagged rocks near the base, but far enough away from potential landings that Daichi has never worried. They are perhaps forty feet up from the water below.

“It’s cold,” Daichi can’t help but say, grinning when Koushi shoots him a _look_.

“I _told_ you it’s cold,” Asahi replies.

“Not _that_ cold. Cooler than the sunshine, though, so a dip might do you some good. Assuage that northern blood of yours.”

“I’ll try it once,” Koushi says, gently prodding Daichi into giving him space. “I’ll try most things once. But Keiji goes first.”

“I wish you would stop volunteering me for things.” Keiji strips off his shirt without further argument, however. Like Koushi, he has more scars than the average man, and his musculature is more defined than Daichi would have expected. The bandages on his hand stand out all that much more starkly for how little he wears. “Try to land with your feet first. It will be easier.”

“I had assumed.”

“And kick upward.”

“I _know_ how to swim.”

Keiji gives him another pointed look, then steps up to the edge of the rock. He jumps off, and dives so smoothly and flawlessly that he hardly creates a splash. Tetsurou whistles, leaning out far to watch.

“Is he always such a braggart?”

“He _does_ like to be the best,” Koushi admits. He peers over the edge with some trepidation, but no amount of fear that Daichi can pinpoint as the cause for Keiji’s mild concerns.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Daichi tells him.

“Keiji would never let me hear the end of it. I doubt you would, either, and certainly not Tetsurou.”

“Guilty,” he says, shrugging.

Koushi takes a few steps backward, then begins untying his shirt. He throws it at Daichi moments before he rushes forward and leaps off the cliff.

By the time Daichi yanks the shirt off and leans over the edge, Koushi pops to the surface, shaking his hair out of his eyes like a dog. Daichi can see his grin easily, even from that distance.

“Were you actually worried?” Asahi asks, quietly and without judgment.

“Keiji doesn’t fret for nothing, unlike _some_. I thought it odd.”

“We’re swimming back to shore!” Keiji calls up to them, hands cupped around his mouth. “No need to plead on our behalf to the witch. Would one of you bring us dry clothes? This water is _frigid_.”

“I _knew_ it was cold and you two are going to get sick,” Asahi says, glancing sidelong at the two guilty parties. They look away with as much innocence as possible.

“Feels nice to me,” Koushi replies, barely audible from their spot on the clifftop.

His words are more damning than Keiji’s complaints, all things as they are.

“We’ll meet you down at the beach!” Tetsurou calls, already resigned. He picks Keiji’s shirt off the ground, and even shakes out a few loose grasses from it. Kenma stays perched on the edge, watching.

“Did you want to try?” Asahi tries again.

“…No,” Kenma says, with a backwards peek at Daichi, before he returns his attention to the pair down below.

Daichi is not going to ignore the intuition of both Keiji _and_ a witch. “What’s going on?”

“There is going to be a storm,” Kenma replies, “but not for another four days. We’ll already be in Talade by then, and you’ll be in Alcaledo. Lady Yamaka might surprise you, also.”

Kenma being so forthcoming admittedly spooks Daichi more than anything else today. “ _Koushi_ , Kenma. Why do you suddenly care?”

Below, Keiji gives a call of alarm.

Daichi and Tetsurou lean over the edge, but Koushi and Keiji have just bobbed away from each other, pulled apart by the small waves. Koushi ducks beneath the water a few times, but each time, he bobs back up, shaking his hair from his eyes and seeming fine. Keiji shouts again in frustration as he tries to catch up.

Koushi goes under, and this time, he doesn’t resurface immediately.

“ _Shit_ ,” Tetsurou hisses and throws both Keiji’s and his own shirt to the side. He dives off the edge, and Daichi moves to follow, but Kenma seizes him around the middle and holds him firm.

“Let _go_ of me,” Daichi commands in his coldest voice.

“I don't follow your orders anymore,” Kenma replies.

“They’re _fine_ , Daichi,” Asahi begins, but Daichi nearly hits him in the face when Kenma picks him up and carries him away from the edge. “Kenma, please! Set Daichi down.”

“He’d jump in after them, and Tetsurou asked me to keep him safe. Drowning men aren’t safe.”

“You take _his_ orders?!” Daichi shouts and pushes desperately against Kenma’s iron grip. “What do you mean _drowning_ —Koushi isn’t drowning!”

“Why aren’t _you_ getting him?”

“I can’t swim,” Kenma icily repeats.

With a rush of vertigo, Daichi finds himself on the beach, still firm in Kenma’s arms. Asahi is a distant figure on the cliff. Tetsurou, however, is a nearing speck in the choppy water, hauling Koushi’s bright-haired figure behind him.

Kenma’s grip remains no matter how much fighting Daichi does. It’s rare that even Koutarou handles him so brazenly, and Daichi is not used to fighting against immovable objects. “Let me _go_!”

“He’ll survive. You don’t have to act like this.”

“You’re _supposed_ to be upset when someone you care about is in danger!” Daichi snarls at him. Either his words or the elbow he jams into his throat gets Kenma to _finally_ release him, and Daichi hits the sand running.

Koushi is upright and coughing, sounding wretched, and he sounds _angry_ as soon as Daichi wades out to help them to shore. Tetsurou passes him off without argument, but Keiji is right at his side, fidgeting.

“I’m fine,” are the first words out of Koushi’s mouth, which does little to assuage Daichi’s concerns.

“Are you sure? Are you alright? Kenma said—”

“ _Koushi_ ,” Keiji cuts in severely, “you need to stop. He can swim, yes, but he’s never had much practice in the ocean. He always gets caught in currents. I’ve had to drag him out of the water before myself.”

“Fuck you, Keiji,” Koushi mutters between coughs.

Before Daichi can reassure him—no one’s _upset_ , he’d just been scared, and it’s such a little thing to keep to himself, so why did he—Keiji snaps with surprising heat, “Fuck _you_ , Koushi! And fuck you, Your _Highness_. Do you know how much he keeps from you to keep you pleased with him? Foolish little things, things like this, things that could be _dangerous_.”

“What?” Daichi asks, on reflex. Koushi won’t look at him, and instead he glares daggers at Keiji, even as Keiji helps him onto the sand and toward their blanket.

“He’s sacrificed all of our chances at a successful job _or_ pleasing the Lord-General in order to ally himself with you, and he’s dragged me with him. But he is too scared to offend your royal tastes and get us both in more dire straits than—”

Koushi punches Keiji.

His first blow catches him by surprise, squarely in the jaw, but Keiji catches his wrist before the second can connect. Koushi rips himself away from Daichi’s support to throw his weight forward, and Keiji stumbles once in the sand before regaining his footing. When Koushi tries to press forward again, Keiji shifts his grip, and flips Koushi over his head to land heavily.

Koushi rolls before Keiji can pin him, but he’s still coughing, and while Daichi has always been incredibly impressed by Koushi’s fighting abilities, it’s clear he is at a disadvantage. Daichi is not certain how much is Koushi’s own impairment and how much is Keiji’s superior ability.

Before Tetsurou or Daichi can intervene, Keiji has Koushi pinned in the sand.

When Daichi glances around, he finds that Asahi has nearly caught up with them, and Kenma is nowhere to be found.

“Did you know he has a temper when he’s scared? Did you know he thinks he doesn’t deserve your trust or help?” Keiji asks, his eyes flashing when he raises his face to Daichi.

“Keiji,” Koushi warns with a voice full of venom. “Stop this.”

“No. You let your pride and your fear get the better of you today, and if you _insist_ on allying yourself with the Amicoran prince, then you are _going_ to trust him in return.”

With that, Keiji releases Koushi, stepping away with all haste. He narrowly avoids Koushi lashing back out at him.

“…Are you alright?” Daichi finally is allowed to ask.

Koushi coughs once more, spits, and refuses to meet Daichi’s eye. “Perfect, _kvana_. I tire of the beach now, and I’m retiring back to my chambers in the palace. No need to escort me.”

Koushi stalks off after Keiji, and Daichi only distantly hopes that they do not fight again. He has no love for Keiji, but he now knows he can trust Keiji’s love for Koushi.

He isn’t sure he can trust Koushi, however, and he is less sure of it now than he has been for a long time.

“Why was Kenma’s first reaction to restrain me when something happened to Koushi?” Daichi asks with a calm he himself is surprised by.

Tetsurou lets out a breath and rakes his hand back through his wet hair. “Ah, well. Hate me for it if ya want, but you’re the priority, Daichi. Kenma won’t act like Kou will, like a guard or confidant. But if something happens, I’ve mostly convinced him to ensure your safety, because your safety mostly means my safety. I had a very long and thorough speech about it, mostly taking advantage of Kenma’s own distaste for the King. It might’ve been one of my more clever moments! And yes, I will keep speaking until you say something, or until Asahi finally pulls us apart—”

“He’s a witch,” Daichi says, “he _knew_ something could happen to Koushi.”

“I’m a good swimmer. I dragged him back to shore, and nothing happened. He is completely fine.”

“You are not to separate me from my husband in the case of emergency again.”

“You are not going to risk your life for an assassin and a liar. I know you two care for each other, but he still means to kill your father. Who knows who else may be on his list,” Tetsurou says, deathly serious.

“Koushi wouldn’t kill me.”

“If Koushi isn’t here, then who will stop Keiji?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: It's time both parties are more honest with each other than they have been.


	35. it runs in our blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi sits on the edge of the bed. There is space between them, and he does not want there to be, but he knows Koushi does.

Daichi has little idea what he will say to Koushi, but he is knocking at his chamber door before he can collect his thoughts (or that bottle of rye wine). Mercifully, he has talent for talking with little forethought, and his emotions have rarely lied to him.

Koushi does not invite him inside, but the door is unlocked, and Daichi nudges it open. “Koushi?” he softly calls.

He finds Koushi seated at the desk, room lit by a single low candle. His cheek rests upon his fist, and his entire frame is loose with a rare kind of exhaustion. Daichi would have thought him asleep if not for the way his copper eyes reflect the small flame.

Daichi sits on the edge of the bed. There is space between them, and he does not want there to be, but he knows Koushi does.

“I was a very unruly child,” Daichi begins.

Koushi’s lashes flutter, the smallest widening to suggest surprise, but his expression otherwise remains still.

“I was a spoiled child, and not just because I am the Prince. Mother desperately wished for children. More than just myself, I’m told, but there were complications to her health. Father did not wish for her to risk herself for another child. In that rare instance, my father won.

“Despite being arranged to marry each other, my father and mother truly loved each other. And me. I have many fond memories of warm family moments. It’s a cold contrast to the relationship I have with Father now, but it’s still nice to think upon from time to time.” Daichi sets his hand against the old, solid bedpost. “Mother loved the summer palace the most. Father hasn’t been here since she died. Grief changes people, I suppose, and so do things like time and war.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Koushi asks. “I know much of it already, Daichi.”

“I’m building up to something. Please, let me finish.”

Koushi inclines his head.

Daichi is building up his own emotional resolve, as much as he’s building up the story for Koushi’s benefit. He’ll need it more, between the two of them.

The next words taste like ash, even before he can force them out.

“Did you know, there are those who believe my father is the one who had my mother killed?”

His eyes sting from the very thought—from the weight of the memories of the discovery, the rumors, the screaming matches he’d had with his father. Overly brazen nobles, asking him as but a boy, if he’d suspected his father of this sort of conspiracy. Foul letters sent from the Lord-General, and others of the Council. Executions ordered by his father to those who dared question too closely.

“Father loved Mother very much, and he hasn’t been the same since she died. It’s impossible to think that he is the one who ordered her death. But I know it was not Setaria, either. It could have been a third party, or it could have been a rogue faction, or perhaps it _was_ F-Father or the Lord-General herself.

“The month leading up to the night Mother was slain, Koutarou was ordered to forgo his protection of both my parents in order to focus on me. He’d spend the night in my bed, telling me stories. He’d eat of all my food before I did—more than he ought to have, in hindsight. When I was with tutors, or outside, he was never far. It was very odd behavior, for Koutarou to do this, and I’m not certain what caused Father to order it.”

“He likely suspected an attempt on _your_ life,” Koushi murmurs.

“Yes, I’ve assumed as much. Father won’t tell me, and Koutarou is ashamed of himself whenever the subject is brought up. He took it very hard, losing my mother. He liked her. She was a wonderful woman,” Daichi says, voice soft with memories of love and a whole family. “And I’ve never been able to completely escape the thought that Father ordered her death, to set a stage where he could declare war freely, and with the court’s backing.”

Koushi remains silent.

Daichi takes a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes prickle again. “I will not allow you to kill Father, but I’m _so grateful_ for the option,” he confesses.

Koushi’s expression falls open in surprise. It is unusual to see him so shuttered, and Daichi is glad he is no longer trying to conceal his own reaction.

Daichi presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I feel like a horrible son. I feel cruel, and cold, and _foul_ , and I feel as if I’ve been twisted by everyone else. But I know what our relationship is. I know what the chance is. I know what I could do as King. And I am unspeakably reassured to have you at my side, to know that I _could_ have the option. You would not judge me for it. You wouldn’t even question the order, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Koushi replies. He sits upright, no longer looking so lethargic, and he folds his hands against the edge of the desk. “I wouldn’t judge you for anything, Daichi. I’ve seen what you’ve faced, and you… you finally know what blood I have on my hands.”

“I don’t hate you for that. I don’t care what your past is or what you’ve done,” Daichi is quick to reassure.

“My hands are stained, and you are still this… this pure, untouched _thing_ , Daichi. I’m terrified to touch you. I’m terrified to _be_ touched by you.”

“And you’re scared I’ll turn you away.”

Koushi’s composure finally falls away, and he cracks a grin, bitter and half-wild. “Terrified of that, too. Can you fathom what it is like, to lay your life— _two_ lives—at the feet of someone who seems as impossible as you? I’m still not convinced you’re real, that our marriage is real. And as Keiji said, I’m doing everything in my power to keep hold of what safety you can give us.”

“I’m going to give you more than safety. I want to give you a _home_. This marriage will be as real as you’d like for it to be, and that means all in my life is yours,” Daichi replies.

“I don’t know how to trust that.”

“I’ll prove it, step by step, day by day. And you can prove to me that I can trust you. That means no more lying, even about little things. Don’t… Don’t _not_ tell me anything, only because you’re scared of a reaction I won’t give you.”

Just as Daichi is thinking that there is still too much space between them, Koushi stands, making his chair _screech_ backwards. He crosses the distance in two long steps, but instead of falling into each other, he seizes Daichi by the throat, presses him against the bed, and holds a knife to his jaw.

“Be afraid of me,” Koushi demands. “Be afraid of the mistake of letting a killer into your home.”

“You won’t kill me,” Daichi replies without fear.

“What of your enemies? What of your _father_?” Koushi presses. The flat of his blade pushes cold against Daichi’s skin. “You’ve confessed your weakness to me, Daichi. What if my heart is so full of affection for you that I must take matters into my own hands, decide myself what is right for you?”

“Give me a weakness in return, then,” Daichi tells him.

Koushi’s grip on his throat loosens. “What?”

“I know you can’t swim in the sea. I know you’re easily offended by teasing, though you try to hide it. I know you are scared of me despite the fact that you could so easily kill me.”

Koushi stares at him, eyes unreadable, until he lets out a soft huff of a laugh. He releases Daichi, steps back, and stashes his knife again. “ _This_ is why I’m scared of you. You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

“I _wish_ you knew what you did to me,” Daichi replies. “Like right now. I wish I could seize you by the shirtfront and shake you until you see sense—until I could convince you that my sanctuary isn’t conditional. Until I could be sure I’m not going to do something wrong out of ignorance again.”

Koushi takes a deep breath, like he is gathering his own courage.

Daichi waits, expectant, and with hope blossoming in his chest.

“ _Kvana_ means pet,” he says, which is not what Daichi had expected.

“Like… a dog?”

“No, it’s… It’s not _strange_ , I promise,” Koushi says, and at least Daichi’s confusion seems to amuse him. Daichi will accept it, for the time being. “It’s only a term. It’s affectionate, and fun, and has nothing to do with animals. But it is not suitable for a prince, and I’d been having fun with that. I’ve been disrespecting you.”

“Do you remember when you were tasked to give me a sore throat, and I told you we were equals in bed? That certainly counts outside of bed now. We’re _married_ , Koushi. I want honesty from you, even without the damned cuffs.”

“It’s a marriage for a treaty built on bluffs and lies.”

“It is a _union_ to symbolize the end of a long war between our countries. I want to remain faithful to that. I want to respect you as a man, outside of Lord-General Oikawa’s clutches and free of any other influencing powers,” Daichi corrects. “No more lying, Koushi. No more trying to please me all the time. I won’t banish you from the palace the first time we have a spat.”

“Is that what this is?” Koushi asks.

“Yes,” Daichi frankly replies, “and look, you still have a bed to sleep in, and food to eat, and safety from your enemies, and my arms to come into, if you want.”

He holds his arms open, and Koushi sighs. The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile, and he obliges Daichi, walking to him once again. Daichi wraps his arms around his waist, and presses a kiss against his shirt. Koushi’s hands loosely rest on Daichi’s shoulders.

“I’m scared of a lot of things, but I’m scared you’ll die, possibly most of all. Will you allow us to protect you against poisons? I never want you to go through that again.”

Daichi cannot help but ask, “Does this mean I can become resistant to what _you_ gave me?”

“Yes, and what Keiji used, too. Neither fully, but enough to avoid the worst of it, as I did. There are several you can become immune to, too, and—”

“If you’re protecting me against poisons,” Daichi gently interrupts, “then I want you to teach me and my men how to fight, too. Tetsurou and Asahi. I want your honest opinions on political matters. I want, so badly, to trust you. And I want you to stop telling me I _shouldn’t_.”

“…I don’t wish to share baths with anyone,” Koushi says.

Daichi pulls back to look up at him, and Koushi’s hands come up to cup his face.

“Except you. But know that bathing will be the last thing on my mind in those instances,” he corrects, and smooths his thumbs over Daichi’s cheekbones. “I don’t want anyone else to know what Keiji and I am, should the worst happen and we need to flee. Please, give us that.”

“…It’s always us,” Daichi says, because he cannot ask Koushi to be honest if he himself will not be, “but what of now? You’re _my_ husband.”

“Give me the time to relax into this, please. This is so much I’m unused to, and if you take away my escape routes, I will only panic more. I’m _your_ escape route, remember?”

“…Alright. But what of _us_?”

“Are you jealous?” Koushi asks with another smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“I will trust you a far sight sooner than I will ever trust Keiji. He has told me that you… you both still intend on killing Father, and I don’t like how he bickers with Koutarou. I’d thought it harmless, but not anymore.”

Koushi leans down, and presses a kiss against Daichi’s forehead. “I’m concerned, too. I still don’t know what to think of it—I’ve never seen Keiji riled so easily. But know that Keiji will not act without me, and I would not act without him. It’s my fault he is in this situation, is an assassin at all, and I bear responsibility for that.”

“Responsibility doesn’t have to blind you to other options.”

“You _are_ jealous,” Koushi says with no small amount of smugness.

Daichi frowns, severely, and Koushi attempts to kiss it off. Daichi eventually allows it.

“Guess what I have hidden beneath your pillow this time,” Koushi whispers against his mouth.

Daichi pulls away far enough to look Koushi in the eye, and Koushi smiles, brighter, back at him.

When Daichi moves back onto the bed, suspiciously fishing about beneath his pillows, Koushi settles down onto the covers beside him. He does not find any sort of strange or sexual item, but instead, a letter, folded in half and accidentally crumpled by Daichi’s searching.

“I’d written you a letter,” Koushi says, settling beside him, “explaining much of my behavior—and apologizing! I certainly owe you an apology for today, I did not mean to let my temper get the better of me, and Keiji said more than he should have—”

Daichi presses a kiss against his lips to quiet him, then unfolds the letter.

It is not all writing; part of the page is filled with one of Keiji’s sketches of Koushi. It must have been drawn that day. Koushi is smiling, eyes distant, hair more tousled than usual by unseen wind. It’s simple, and breathtaking.

“Why a letter?” Daichi asks.

“I am a coward at heart, Daichi. There is little I will not think myself to death over, and you’ve thoroughly invaded my thoughts. How else was I supposed to convey my fears without wishing to throw myself off the roof?”

“Please don’t be afraid to ever _talk_ to me,” Daichi sighs. He folds the letter again, carefully, and sets it upon the small table by the bed. “I will read it in the morning, when I don’t hurt my eyes fighting against dim light. So I suppose you will have to tell me all it contained in the meantime.”

“ _Or_ we could consummate our marriage.”

“Are you _insatiable_?” Daichi asks, with an overly dramatic groan, and he flops against the soft bedspread.

Koushi follows him only a moment later. “Yes, but I’m also very good at distracting men with sex.”

Daichi stares up at him, frowning.

Koushi’s smile softens, away from the cheekiness, and he combs his fingers through Daichi’s short hair. “This isn’t a distraction for you, Daichi. It’s one for me. Is that alright? There is much I still must adjust to, and much to mull over. Allow me time?”

“All of it you need,” Daichi replies. “So long as you remember that you don’t have to be perfect for me.”

“I’ve spent a very long time trying to be perfect for the image of a prince that turned out to be false,” Koushi says.

Daichi cups his face, and bites his tongue against any sort of fluffy words about perfection and images to uphold. He knows it would do more harm than good right now. He doesn’t wish, either, to be the sort of man to use sweet nothings until they are meaningless.

When Koushi dips down to kiss him, lightly, Daichi winds his arms around Koushi’s neck. He rolls them, until he is the one leaning over Koushi, and Koushi is soft and pliant against the blankets.

“Let me take your mind off these heavy matters, then,” Daichi offers, and kisses Koushi again.

Koushi stiffens beneath him, and Daichi, half-expecting this, pulls away. “…When I admitted that I’d assumed you were being used to taken care of, the opposite is true. I’m used to being the one _to_ please others. I’m not unhappy with that, but I’m unused to whatever devious thoughts are running through your mind.”

“A man is allowed to take care of his husband, yes?” Daichi asks.

“I am not used to being someone’s husband, Daichi,” Koushi says, with more alarm than before.

“Is it the fact that you might be more passive than you’re used to,” Daichi carefully asks, “or is it the fact that there may be feelings attached to anything I do?”

Koushi glances away, guilty and pink-cheeked. “Both, perhaps. Not to say I _don’t_ care for you, or everything we’ve done, but I enjoy exercising control during sex.”

“You can tell me no at any time, and I’ll respect that. But I would like to take care of you, tonight. If I am to prove that I’m nothing to be afraid of, and if you’re to prove to me that you’ll be honest with me, then I’d like this.” Daichi sits back on his haunches, straddling Koushi’s thighs, as platonic as he can make it considering their proximity.

Koushi opens his mouth, closes it, and repeats this a few times. He still avoids eye contact, eyeing the nearby wall with suspicion and embarrassment.

“I can ride you, if that is what’s giving you pause,” Daichi adds.

Koushi scowls up at him, but at least that is true eye contact, now. “Irrelevant. I’m scared of you caring for me. I don’t _want_ you to care for me. I want the lighthearted teasing, and the fond cuddling, and I don’t want to worry about offending you and getting us killed.”

“It’s a good thing I’ll make all the decisions, then, so that means you can’t offend me.” Daichi, very carefully, reaches for Koushi’s hand, and entwines their fingers. “Also, unfortunately for us both, I’ve been called a romantic a few too many times in recent weeks. It may be going to my head.”

Koushi stares at their hands, together, then flops back onto the pillows with a resigned sort of huff. “I surrender, Your Highness.”

“A little late for Setaria to surrender, isn’t it?”

“I still have one of my uniforms, if you’d like to revisit this later. We could _negotiate_ without the boring politics involved.”

“You know, the _truly_ scary thing about marriage?” Daichi asks, leaning low over Koushi once more. Koushi blinks up at him. “You can maintain the playful air even _while_ caring about someone.”

“Shocking,” Koushi says, against his mouth, before Daichi kisses him again. But he does not melt as Daichi wishes for. Instead, as soon as his lips are free again, he murmurs, “I’m scared of you still caring for me, despite all I’ve done to you.”

“It would be a lie to say I’ve not thought about it. I don’t like being poisoned, or manipulated, or lied to, even if I can understand the powers restraining you.” Daichi sighs, and leans back to allow Koushi more space. Koushi is clearly grateful. “I don’t trust you, not as much as I _should_ trust my husband, but I care for you still. You’re a good man, and the fact that you told me at all is proof of that.”

“I’m a very good assassin,” Koushi tells him, apropos of nothing.

He shifts them around, so Daichi is laying on his back, and Koushi is on his side next to him, with both an arm and a leg thrown over him. Daichi wonders if it is meant to be possessive, or just to keep him still for more unfortunate reveals.

“Do you know why?” Koushi prompts.

“I don’t know the first thing about killing people. Remember, that is half the reason why I’ve had such struggles against Father,” Daichi flatly responds.

As Koushi walks his fingers up Daichi’s stomach and onto his sternum, he tells him, “Because I’m so afraid at all times. Few things are more dangerous than a frightened man with a knife. I’m frightened of being killed, of being punished, of getting Keiji hurt, and now, of _you_ being hurt. Desperation has always been a very good motivator for me, and I don’t know how to trust that you are telling me I don’t need it anymore.”

Daichi takes Koushi’s hand in his. “I understand desperate actions,” he replies, “and I wish I could do more for you and these thoughts of yours.”

“We are both going to have to learn patience.”

“As much as it kills us,” Daichi agrees with a smile.

Koushi grins at him, and swoops down to steal his mouth for another kiss.

 

—

 

It is cooler out than it had been before, but that serves Daichi fine, since he will not be swimming, and it means Koushi can be coaxed to enjoy some sunlight without (too much) complaint. They still have a large parasol for him, stuck haphazardly into the sand. It had taken some careful maneuvering, but they’ve managed to secure the blanket in a spot where Daichi can bask in the sun and Koushi may lay in the shade, side by side.

“You’re like a cat,” Koushi remarks, fondly, and goes as far as to reach over to pet Daichi’s hair.

“Plenty of animals enjoy sunbathing,” Daichi replies. He makes a show of stretching and rolling onto his side. “I happen to be one of them. It’s too cold to do much else, even this far south.”

“It’s a nice day out.”

“If you say so.”

It had taken no small amount of arguing to convince Asahi to let them be alone today. Keiji, by contrast, had needed no convincing to leave Koushi be. Daichi worries for the state of their friendship, and what that may do to Keiji’s already questionable loyalties, but Koushi does not seem bothered.

Then again, it is not as if Daichi is skilled at reading him.

“Why are Tetsurou and Kenma going to Talade? The King is unaware of this, too, if I’m understanding correctly,” Koushi asks. He rolls, too, but onto his stomach, and pillows his cheek upon his folded arms. Daichi brushes some of his hair out of his eyes for him, and Koushi rewards him with a sweet smile.

“Tetsurou grew up there, still cares about some people there.”

“I had assumed he grew up with you, for the way you two carry on.”

Daichi laughs, shrugs. He can’t argue that. “I’d been a spoiled child, but a lonely one. Mother wanted more children, so given the hindsight of a dozen years, it makes sense that she adopted the first street stray that happened by. And since it was her will, Father won’t force him out now.”

“This explains so much,” Koushi says, with wide-eyed realization, “about how that man grew to be so impetuous despite no royal blood. I’d assumed he was some half-royal bastard, you know.”

“With Koutarou, we’re quite careful not to go about creating bastards,” Daichi dryly responds. “Mother and Father did care for one another, and as far as I know, were faithful throughout their marriage. I’m sure it has happened in the past, but I don’t know how the binding would handle bastards or disputes for the crown.”

Koushi hums, closes his eyes again, and does not respond further. Daichi takes this to mean that Koushi has his own, private thoughts on the matter, and has assumed they are not for sharing in polite company. Or perhaps Daichi’s company.

He is learning to read him, if slowly.

“You care for me,” Daichi says.

“I do,” Koushi replies without opening his eyes. He does smile, however, another little quirk of his mouth that Daichi catalogues.

“Then why do you insist on thinking of killing Father?”

With that, Koushi slits his eyes back open, and his smile disappears. “It would be best for you.”

“And you,” Daichi points out.

Koushi does not argue that point, nor does he avert his eyes with any guilt. “I’m a coward, remember? Even if you have full knowledge, if I still assassinate His Majesty, then my job is done and, in addition to a hefty sum of money, I’m a free man without fighting the enemies _you’ve_ just broken free from.”

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Daichi says, and places his hand upon Koushi’s cheek. Koushi’s copper eyes slide over to the touch, and he leans into it, if barely. “You’re a clever man, and Keiji too, perhaps terrifyingly so. But I won’t allow this, and neither will Koutarou. Asahi, and Tetsurou, and—and if he can talk _Kenma_ into this, then that is two witches you must fight through. You will both be slaughtered before getting anywhere near him.”

Koushi’s eyes flash and a frown twists his mouth.

Daichi retracts his hand, less out of fear and more as punishment to them both for this argument _again_.

“You would be a wonderful King,” Koushi says in a low voice, “and this country would do well with you at its head. I will act with all caution, and I _know_ what giving you this knowledge has done to my chances of victory. That said, you and your witch would do well to learn a thing or two about arrogance.”

“ _I_ do?” Daichi scoffs before he can help himself.

Koushi props himself up on his elbows and his stare has a hard edge, cousin to an actual glare. Daichi wishes he had not soured yet another conversation for them. He wonders when— _if_ —it will stop.

“I’m _here_ , aren’t I? Despite knowing the risks, despite _knowing_ who and what I am, you allowed us to wed and I now have access to your family and your witch. What, if not arrogance, could it be that made you allow this?”

 _Desperation_ , he could say, and it would certainly be no lie. _Foolishness. A glint of my own victory, a spider web’s chance of grasping something for myself_.

Instead, he cups Koushi’s face again, and brushes his thumb over the mole high on his cheek.

Koushi relaxes at once, glare and scowl both gone, only his own kind of fearful desperation left in his eyes.

“I care for you,” Daichi says, careful to maintain honesty without overstating or understating anything, “and I have valued what you’ve offered to me. I know, should worst come to pass, that you will be there to catch me, and the remains of this country. But you must let _me_ try before you do.”

It is after a heavy pause that Koushi quietly replies, “I will, Daichi.” He turns enough to kiss Daichi’s palm, eyes still locked onto his. “But,” he adds, voice only slightly muffled, “it will be _my_ discretion that decides when you have lost your fight and it will be my turn to act.”

Anger flares within his chest, despite all of his husband’s perhaps calculated softness. “Koushi—”

“I cannot trust you until you trust me,” Koushi reminds him, and kisses his hand again, until Daichi pulls it away. “You’ve still a few months until the blood reparations will force the Lord-General to become desperate. I would say to use them wisely, but I cannot think of a way to avoid sounding patronizing.”

“At least you’ve that much awareness,” Daichi flatly replies.

“What a honeymoon,” Koushi sighs. He settles back down into his spot in the shade, companionably close to Daichi, but not bridging the gap himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Lady Yamaka receives them at her estate, and as par the course in Daichi's life, things do not go to plan.


	36. tasting it like blood in your mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, my family has always been a patron of the arts,” Daichi can’t help but point out.
> 
> “Oh, stop. We don’t need a play about this. I’d rather see if it turns out to be a comedy or a tragedy before any more thought is put into it, anyway.”

They are halfway to the provincial capital of Alcaledo when Daichi realizes that the twin presences of Asahi and Tetsurou in his life have uniquely prepared him for dealing with his new husband’s new honesty.

Asahi can be withdrawn, skittish, and self-depreciative, so Daichi has learned to be stern, honest, and supportive. Tetsurou can be deflective, irreverent, and prideful, so Daichi has learned to be stubborn, prudent, and cautious. And now, he looks at his husband, full of so many contradictions, secrets, and pretenses that Daichi cannot help himself. He wants to dig beneath these layers. He wants to know Koushi, as a friend, as a confidant, as someone legitimately wedded to him.

Even if Daichi agreed to it in order to gain an edge on the Lord-General’s scheming, he does not mind the thought of being a married man. He has more stable footing to battle both Lord-General Oikawa _and_ his father with Koushi at his side. And he wants him, truly, to be at his _side_ , not a pretty chess piece to move—or _watch_ move.

“You’re staring,” Koushi says, gaze still out the window of the carriage, chin in hand, lips quirked just the tiniest bit to reveal his affections.

Daichi likes being one of Koushi’s affections.

“Perhaps I’m still in awe that I’m wedded to such a beautiful man,” Daichi says, half a lie, and relishing the lack of silver on his wrists.

Keiji snorts unattractively.

Daichi ignores him.

“You know, he’s _your_ Prince too, now. Legitimately. A little respect would do you good,” Asahi pointedly tells Keiji, and Keiji quickly feigns interest outside the window as well, crowding closer to Koushi in order to do so.

The sidelong glance he spares Daichi is calculated.

Daichi still wishes to loose Koutarou on him, because he does not deserve this blatant disrespect, nor does he deserve to have Keiji _try_ to tug Koushi from him. Daichi is fighting an uphill battle as it is. “There aren’t supposed to be secrets between us,” Daichi says, lightly, but his voice still comes out harder than he intends. “There is no used trying to whisper to each other when we’re _right here_.”

“If we wished to speak privately in your presence, we would use another language,” Koushi replies, sighing. “We won’t do you the discourtesy of trying to _hide_ it. Anymore, at any rate.”

“ _You_ were the one trying to flatter your husband out of a perfectly reasonable remark,” Keiji adds.

“Keiji,” Koushi warns.

“What _my husband_ and I discuss and share thoughts of is not your concern,” Daichi can’t help but reply. Koushi seems even more exasperated that he’s giving into Keiji’s baiting, but Daichi cannot help it. He may be halfway prepared to deal with Koushi, but by the stars, he is _not_ , nor had he ever been, prepared for Keiji.

Also, as Asahi is unfortunately aware and is likely the cause for his current despair, Daichi falls easily enough for Tetsurou’s baiting. He is predisposed to letting his tongue work faster than his mind.

“Keiji,” Koushi yet again breaks in, “why did you accompany us, if you are already set on being so sour?”

Keiji falls grumpily silent instead of responding; all present are aware that the only other option for him had been to accompany Tetsurou and Kenma to Talade instead, and Keiji would have sooner bitten off his own fingers. Daichi cannot tell if Keiji’s increased venom is due to his fight with Koushi, or his fear for Koushi’s safety, or his fear _of_ Koushi’s decision-making. Or perhaps he is just angry today. It’s not as if Daichi will ever know the man well enough to read his face.

“Neither of you have been to Alcaledo before, have you?” Asahi asks. As usual, instead of making matters seem more awkward or strained, he defuses tensions with his gentle air and soft voice. Daichi could kiss him for how grateful he is to have him back at his side.

(And, as much as he adores Tetsurou as well, he’s similarly grateful for the distance between them. Daichi still has no idea how to deal with Kenma’s presence, or their bond at all, but at least he does not have Tetsurou’s mouth making the two assassins _worse_.)

“Never,” Koushi replies, weary, but grateful too. “I’m looking forward to seeing the harbor. I’ve heard it’s a very beautiful city.”

“Absolutely,” Asahi enthusiastically agrees. “A jewel of Amicora. It had been a walled city, some centuries back, but it’s expanded since—but the walls are still standing, protecting the innermost districts. They decorate it during festivals, I’ve heard.”

“ _I_ want to go south for holidays,” Daichi says, knowing the time-old dig, “but it is not worth Father’s ire. He wants the Prince present in the capital.”

“With all the haste you blatantly showed His Majesty in departing for our honeymoon, I would have thought you ran off more often,” Koushi says with another small smile. “And wasn’t Tetsurou saying something to that effect when you two were children…?”

“All boys want to run off to have adventures,” Daichi replies.

Keiji rolls his eyes.

Koushi does not notice, or else is a better actor than Daichi assumed, because he turns fully from the window to face him with a growing grin. “And what sort of _adventures_ would a Prince think of? I can’t imagine you had a very strained childhood, Daichi.”

“At least until he was eight, or thereabout,” Keiji adds.

Asahi makes a strangled sort of sound deep in his throat, and Koushi snaps into such anger that for a moment, Daichi can see him as a hired killer. “ _Keiji_! That was uncalled for!”

“I thought you _wanted_ honesty. Better to address it now than dance around sore subjects until something _else_ tempts fate and you end up in worse straits than before,” Keiji replies with terrifying calm.

“Stop the carriage,” Koushi demands.

“Wait, please,” Asahi begins, but Koushi levels a glare at him and Asahi freezes in his seat.

Daichi leans forward and puts an arm between Koushi and Asahi before he even thinks of the action. Keiji only _then_ looks angry—insulted, perhaps, that Daichi might want to show a sliver of defensive behavior when in an enclosed space with two assassins—but Koushi does not seem to register it at all. He unlatches and throws open the carriage door, despite that it is still moving, and drags Keiji out with him.

They land easily, already marching off, and Asahi seizes the back of Daichi’s shirt to stop him from trying to do the same.

“My prince,” Asahi says, urgently, as Daichi tries to wrestle himself free. “See some sense! Don’t hurt yourself pursuing either of them.”

The metaphor hangs heavily between them. The carriage slows, Daichi tries to quell his racing heart, and Asahi keeps a hand on him like he does not trust him _not_ to do something foolish. It has been a long time since Daichi has needed such herding.

“He’s rude because he feels threatened,” Asahi says. He seems pleased that Daichi has not dramatically thrown himself from the carriage, and that rankles Daichi more than he’d like to admit. “You know this, my lord. It is not a mystery. Give them both time, and space.”

“And if I don’t have the luxury of either?” Daichi asks in return.

“They are grown men. They can sort out a _little_ of their own horse shit,” Asahi flatly replies.

Daichi almost smiles. He slips from the carriage as soon as Asahi releases him; they’re on the edge of hearing distance, though with nothing but space around them, their shouting carries well enough. And, sure enough, they’re conversing in a foreign tongue Daichi does not know.

When he nears, Asahi on his heels, he finds Keiji shaking his bandaged hand in Koushi’s face. Keiji has his teeth bared, clearly using his height to his advantage, and while Koushi is red-faced with his mouth twisted into something ugly, he does not balk.

They do not stop arguing even when they must surely be aware of onlookers. If anything, that seems to make Keiji angrier. He looms over Koushi, voice cold as ice, threat dripping from every one of his foreign words.

It becomes apparent they’re speaking Tarik only when Koushi switches to Canus with a furious “ _Iatoir_!” that makes even Keiji recoil.

Koushi claps a hand over his mouth, and Daichi then realizes that his expression is not _anger_ , but close to tears.

“I’m sorry,” he says in Continental, voice choked, and steps away from Keiji. He sniffs, scrubs a hand over his face, and only then addresses Daichi and Asahi. “I’m sorry for slowing our travel. We may resume.”

Daichi swallows and nods. His chest constricts with pain at how much anguish is clear on Koushi’s face, but he knows it would do no good to speak of it now.

Worse, however—worse than Koushi’s blatant pain, worse than the way Keiji hangs his head to avoid eye contact, worse than the tension blanketing their trip and quashing all hope of light conversation—worst of all is that Daichi is consumed by _another_ thought, one that makes him feel callous and cruel.

Asahi speaks Tarik.

 

—

 

They do not get time alone until they reach Alcaledo. Daichi will not ask Asahi in front of them, and neither will he ask for privacy. He does not trust switching tongues like they do, especially since there is a chance Keiji could know enough Amicoran to be an even larger thorn in Daichi’s side.

Daichi rests uneasily on the ride. He wants, desperately, to know what they had been arguing about. He wants no more secrets to actually _mean_ no more secrets.

Unfortunately, time is not his ally today.

Storm clouds are already thick and dark overhead by the time they reach the inner wall of the city. Koushi will not be able to see the harbor on a day like today, and unless Koushi _truly_ pleads with him, Daichi would like to forgo any and all tours until the weather clears entirely. Kenma _had_ warned him of a storm, but it is still nothing Daichi is pleased with.

The rain begins before they make it to Lady Yamaka’s estate. Despite being the ruling Lady of the province, her home is no longer the castle at the top of the hill within the walled city; her estate is more modern (though certainly still lavish) and far more fitting of Amicoran nobility than anything Setaria had offered them. Estate staff rush out to meet them, most with parasols and coats, but they cannot totally escape the rain as they duck into the entrance hall.

They are offered towels inside, and while they aren’t _soaked_ , Daichi finds himself wishing for a hot bath instead of important greetings first thing. Daichi dries his head as quickly as possible, and nearly ends up smacking Asahi in the face when he straightens as soon as he hears the announcement for Lady Yamaka’s presence.

“Your Highness, what a pleasure it is to receive you in Alcaledo!” Mika declares from the top of the staircase. She is dressed elegantly, befitting her status as well as personal tastes, but what stops Daichi is not her dress or her beauty, but the man escorting her.

Suguru spares him a smile.

“What dreadful weather, I wish we could have reconnected under fairer skies,” Mika continues, leading Suguru down like he is meant to be a trophy upon her arm, and she tuts over Daichi’s wet appearance before blatantly turning her attention to the rest of his small entourage. “I believe congratulations are in order? Suguru has been _such_ a prat, he wouldn’t tell me even the slightest thing about your new husband!”

_That sounds like Suguru_ , Daichi thinks, still regarding him with utmost wariness. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Yamaka. I had no idea your… fiancé would also be here. I was unaware he had left the northern palace.”

“It is amazing what a little loyalty can buy when it comes to personal matters,” Suguru replies, then leans over to press a kiss to Mika’s cheek. It makes her flush prettily, and she titters, and lightly slaps his shoulder.

“Enough of _our_ personal matters—we have yet to announce our engagement, so I would thank you for your discretion. What of _you_ , Your Highness!” Mika brightens further, hands clasped, beaded hair piece swaying with every minute movement. “You have grown into such a handsome young man! It is such a pleasure to have you in Alcaledo proper—I do miss the grand parties Her Majesty enjoyed, may she rest peacefully among the stars. And now her son is _married_!”

Daichi understands that he is in the company of a _romantic_. More than Suguru, certainly.

Mika once again searches out his little entourage, waiting with barely bridled glee at the prospect of introducing herself to new royalty. She smiles brightly at Asahi, recognizing him, but she lingers pointedly over both Koushi and Keiji. Daichi clears his throat, and her attention snaps back to him in an instant.

Daichi offers his hand, and Koushi takes it. Mika’s eyes light up.

Asahi announces for them, “May I introduce the Consort of His Highness Crown Prince Daichi—His Grace Duke Koushi, formerly Brigadier General Sugawara of Setaria.”

Koushi smiles handsomely for her, even with damp hair and wet clothes, but he clearly does not know how to offer the proper pleasantries himself.

Lady Yamaka ignores all etiquette, anyway, and throws decorum out the window by clasping both of their hands in her own. “Congratulations!” she exclaims so earnestly that Daichi nearly blanches. “Suguru has told me _so much_ about your troubles in Setaria. I’m so very happy to hear that you have managed to find love even despite all of these hardships and politics.”

“Love,” Daichi repeats, eyes sliding over to Suguru with growing annoyance. “Is that what he said.”

“Oh, come now, Daichi,” Koushi says. His smile has relaxed into something sincere, and _pleased_ —almost an annoyance all on its own. “There are worse things to be accused of.”

“If I may, Your Excellency,” Asahi says, and _very gently_ pulls Mika’s hands away from theirs, “and I beg pardon for this, but it sounds as if your fiancé has greatly exaggerated things for the sake of storytelling.”

_Not greatly, perhaps_ , Daichi thinks, and thinks of his fondness for Koushi. But certainly not love, not the romance for the ages that Suguru has led Lady Yamaka to believe.

Mika slowly pales, then flushes, up to the roots of her hair.

“It is no insult,” Daichi hastens to tell her. “But this is a political arrangement, one we have admittedly enjoyed, but still a happy end to a treaty between our warring countries. Your support for our union and this treaty warms my heart.”

“ _Suguru_ ,” Mika says, clearly distressed, and just as clearly trying to hide it for the sake of polite company. She turns to her escort, mouth working in the distraught manner of a woman too polite to shout before others, and Suguru feigns innocence all the while. “Suguru, how _dare_ —I beg your pardon, Your Highness.”

“Lady Yamaka,” Daichi says, almost desperate now to repair this awkwardness building between them. He _needs_ her to be friend and ally. He does not need Suguru to have poisoned anything else for him. “Please, we have known each other since childhood. You need not fret over words between friends.”

“But what power words have,” Suguru says with _poorly_ restrained smugness.

Mika drops all pretense of decorum in order to smack him.

 

—

 

“So the cover of fools in love follows us even here,” Koushi muses. Daichi hardly hears him over the obscene sigh he lets out as he sinks into the hot water.

“Worse things to be accused of,” Daichi reminds him.

“I suppose,” Koushi agrees. He smiles down at the water, at the light reflecting off the surface and onto the copper tub, but something about his expression remains distant. “But what _would_ Suguru have said? What did he stand to gain by embarrassing any of us, or by lying about _our_ feelings?”

“To please her, no doubt. They’re smitten with one another,” Daichi replies. He watches as Koushi finishes disrobing and slips into the tub with him. Almost at once, Koushi’s skin begins turning pink from the heat of the water. Koushi melts into it with a contented sigh of his own. “I am not overly worried. Should I be?”

“But he embarrassed her, too, even if he does adore her. I just don’t understand what he stands to _gain_. Everything the man does has some worth.”

“I originally blackmailed him for his aid by threatening Lady Yamaka. I bought his loyalty with the offer of sanctioning their marriage,” Daichi says, old shame prickling at him for it. “Love motivates him. _Some_ prefer to demonstrate affection with teasing.”

Koushi sinks lower into the water and pretends not to have heard him.

Daichi allows him space and silence. They’ll be frank and open with one another, even if it pains them, and Daichi values his input.

But he misses the easy affection, too.

As if listening to his thoughts, Koushi sidles over until he can rest against Daichi’s side. Daichi drapes his arm over Koushi’s shoulders instead of the edge of the tub, and Koushi nestles in tighter against him. He does not make excuses for his actions, or ask Daichi anything else, but only rests his cheek upon Daichi’s shoulder.

Daichi leans his own cheek against the wet starlight of Koushi’s hair.

They soak rather than wash, but it is an indulgence Daichi is long accustomed to. It had been sorely missed in Setaria. It reminds him of warmth shared with friends, and family, and familiarity. They still must ready themselves for the gala held in their name, must brace themselves for more nobility and socializing and pleasantries, but at least this moment is theirs to breathe.

“Would it be safer to remain fools in love?” Koushi eventually murmurs. “You know your court. Would it be believed? Would it be for the best?” _Do we need that sort of protection_ hangs beneath his words, an undercurrent of an old concern. “Perhaps that had been Daishou’s angle…”

“Nobility like gossip, and they like royalty more. You will become an object of flattery, envy, scorn, and probably worse. But _that_ is no cause for worry—it is the empty talk of those who have nothing better to offer.” Daichi contemplates the silverite hair in his peripherals. He wonders if Koushi would object to a kiss, or if he does not wish for any further prodding. He wonders if Koushi would trust it to be honest affection rather than some sort of agreement with Suguru.

Daichi is not suited for overthinking. He sighs.

Koushi nuzzles against him a moment, a reassurance sorely needed. “I can handle empty talk well enough. It is further political machinations I’m wary of, and do not look forward to. It cannot be that your _entire_ court is nothing but empty air, Daichi.”

“You’ve already met Daishou,” he flatly replies. “May he be the worst we deal with.”

“He is not nobility until he’s wed.”

“…Most of the nobles are somewhat aware of the tension between Father and myself,” Daichi allows, cautiously and unhappily, “so they would not seek to throw their lot entirely in with either of us, until they think they can see where the road is headed. None should trouble us unduly outside of gossip, and none of that gossip should be new—they have had several months now to accept that I was to wed a man for the sake of a peace treaty.”

“We’ll never have an heir.”

“They worry more about Koutarou—and Kenma now, I’m certain—than the perceived fault of being unable to bear me a child.”

“It’s not perceived,” Koushi snorts. “I definitely cannot bear you a child, Daichi. Even if I _had_ a womb, I’ve had so many poisons and blades in me… Even if we were to seek a surrogate, it would have to be you.”

“It always had to be me. _My_ blood, remember?” Daichi uses the excuse of showing him his wrist to wrap his arms better around Koushi. “This awful royal blood. It has done me _nothing_ good.”

“I like the status of being married to a Prince. I like being a Duke, or Consort, or whatever the term may be.”

“Your Grace,” Daichi murmurs against his hair. Koushi huffs a soft laugh. “I like seeing you in finery. You wear it well.”

“No one would guess at my upbringing,” Koushi agrees with an actual laugh. “At the very least, this strange life of mine has taught me how to wear quite a lot of different clothing. Imagine, a play put on about this—the _wardrobe_ they would have to have.”

“You know, my family has always been a patron of the arts,” Daichi can’t help but point out.

“Oh, stop. We don’t need a play about this. I’d rather see if it turns out to be a comedy or a tragedy before any more thought is put into it, anyway.”

“Or a romance,” Daichi muses. “Maybe Lady Yamaka would finance it for us, save us some trouble.”

Koushi laughs again, and Daichi enjoys the sound without shame. But then, he quiets, and his silence is thoughtful. At length, he says, “Daichi, would you allow me a favor? I know it’s odd of me to ask, but I don’t believe you’ll be happy with it.”

Daichi sighs. The bath suddenly seems a little cooler. “What a way to preface asking for a royal favor…”

“Would you rather me beat you in a fight again?”

“Actually, _you_ didn’t—”

“I still don’t trust Suguru, and I’ll be of no use to you if I’m distracted by paranoia. Would you allow me to investigate him tonight, during the party?” Koushi asks.

“You are _not_ allowed to torture my father’s advisor.”

“No, nothing of the sort! _Daichi_ , what cruelties do you think I turn to as a first act?” Koushi smacks his chest, not playfully, but not enough to harm. “No, I probably won’t even speak with him directly. But I _would_ like your permission—knowledge, at least—to… search places I oughtn’t? I can be discreet, and quiet, but it means I will have to be gone from your side.”

“You couldn’t do it after the gala?” Daichi asks, and somehow, it comes out something approaching a _whine_. He clears his throat and tries again. “I only meant—it would be easier for you to maintain an alibi if you were seen. Everyone _would_ want to meet you, after all.”

“It would be toward the end. If it’s after the party, then Suguru would only retire to his own chambers—or Lady Yamaka’s.”

“You want to search _both_?”

“Who is to say they aren’t staying together?” Koushi asks in return, and Daichi cannot deny that possibility. Even if they have yet to announce an engagement, it _is_ Mika’s own estate, and she has considerable power and reputation with which to do as she pleases. “I’m _asking_ , please give me credit for that.”

“I am,” Daichi says, though he really isn’t, and doesn’t appreciate having to make this decision, either. “I have known Lady Yamaka since we were both young, before she took the title. She has done much for Alcaledo and to support the crown. I don’t know _what_ you suspect of them, but I am not fond of these suspicions. That said, I will allow it. I trust your instincts.”

Koushi nestles back into him again, though if Daichi were pressed, he would say that he’s _embarrassed_ now. True enough, he sounds sulky when he replies, “These are supposed to be paranoid thoughts. I would have allowed a little more suspicion of _me_ , Daichi.”

“I want to show you that you can trust me, and that I _want_ to trust you. That also includes any information you can give me.”

Koushi hums, still embarrassed. “I only want to know why a Lady would be _so_ enthused about meeting me. You don’t trust Daishou, and neither do I. Something feels wrong.”

 

—

 

Daichi had not anticipated that being away from Koushi would mean that Koushi appointed Keiji to watch him in his stead.

Even Asahi raises a brow at that.

“Koushi takes your safety very seriously,” Keiji informs them, deadpan. “Especially in crowds. No insult meant.”

“It’s a party. For _us_ ,” Daichi replies, utterly nonplussed.

“Koushi can be paranoid,” Keiji replies, somehow even more flatly.

Something wriggles in the back of Daichi’s mind, something alarmed and confused. Daichi had not had a moment alone with Asahi since they arrived, and thanks to Keiji’s displeased appearance, it appears he still won’t. He wants to know what they had been arguing about to make Koushi so upset, so set him so on edge that he must sneak about a foreign estate to assuage his own lurking thoughts. Even Keiji’s behavior seems more aloof than usual.

The night grows stranger still when Suguru escorts Mika over to Daichi. “I hope you are enjoying the party to the fullest, Your Highness,” Suguru says with that smile Daichi hates. He glances at Keiji, and somehow, his smile becomes even more vile. “You and your attendants.”

“It’s a lovely party,” Daichi tells Mika. “Thank you for this, and for welcoming us into your home so warmly. I have missed Amicoran festivities.”

“I’m so glad to be the one to offer you a proper taste of home again,” Mika replies, pleased, based on the flush high in her cheeks.

But she seems surprised when Suguru quite literally hands her off to Daichi.

Daichi stares at her hand for a moment too long to be polite. “Suguru?” Mika asks, sounding lost herself.

“Where is His Grace?” Suguru asks, and makes a show of scanning the crowd. Daichi swallows. “I thought it would be fun to cause a bit of a scandal ourselves. Mika was _so_ disappointed she had to miss the wedding, after all.”

Mika laughs in delight, and her fingers tighten on Daichi’s. “A _scandal_ , really, is that what you want for the evening? And you couldn’t think of anything better than the hostess and guest of honor dancing together? Suguru, maybe I ought to have been worrying about how Setaria changed _you_ instead of His Highness.”

Daichi blinks in surprise, but Mika doesn’t appear to have noticed her odd phrasing.

“Asahi, would you do me the favor of fetching His Grace for me?” Suguru asks with eyes on Keiji. “Since it seems he has wandered off somewhere by himself.”

_There is no way they know_ , Daichi reminds himself, though he fears his clammy hands may make Mika suspicious soon. “I warn you,” Daichi says, sounding calm despite himself, “that he back-leads terribly.”

“I’m used to that in a dance partner,” Suguru replies and Mika rolls her eyes, although her mouth still twitches upward. “I will treat him well, rest assured, Your Highness. Please, treat my love as tenderly as you treat yours.”

Daichi is given little choice but to lead Mika onto the dance floor. He appreciates her company, the support she could offer, but this timing is less than ideal. (Though she is a far better follower than Suguru had implied.)

“Some scandal,” she sighs again. “He has _such_ a flair for the dramatic, he ought to have been in the theater. You must have had to put up with quite a lot while abroad.”

“Yes,” Daichi replies with a self-depreciative grin. “I will admit I’m glad to be home, as happy as I am for the end to this war.”

“You’ve done so much, despite being so young—despite not wearing the crown yet,” Mika says with a beam. And Daichi is _forcibly_ reminded that she is a power in her own right, someone to reckon with, and that she had her own thoughts on Daichi’s familial tensions. “You will be a fine King.”

“One day,” Daichi grits out.

“Yes, one day,” she agrees without missing a beat.

“Lady Yamaka, I must ask… Is Suguru’s behavior odd to you tonight? He seems to be putting on quite the show for very little reason.” He pauses to spin her out, and when she comes back into his arms, he finds her expression harder.

“Yes, I’m afraid I must agree. Stars only know what goes through that man’s head at times, but I do find it odd as well. I had assumed something happened between you two in Setaria.”

“Not untrue,” Daichi replies as delicately as he can manage. “But I don’t believe it’s an excuse for this. I had only wondered if something was going on between _you_ two.”

Mika sighs through her nose. “I know Suguru is not a popular man within the court. I can only surmise at some of _your_ private opinions, Your Highness. I don’t fault you for that, but I know Suguru, and I know he is a good man. I love him dearly. And he wastes little effort in frivolities or dramatics with no pay. If he wants a scandal tonight, no doubt he’ll cause one on his own.”

They circle out toward the edge of the dance floor—it is smaller than his palace’s and even the one in the grand hall of Vierage, and Daichi struggles to recalibrate—and end up near one of the shut glass doors leading out to a balcony when the song winds down. The storm still rages outside, sheeting down the windows, turning the night black. Mika had admitted earlier that her guest list was smaller than anticipated due to the storm, not that Daichi minded.

“I wish this could have happened under better circumstances,” Mika muses, staring out into the storm. “I hate it when weather ruins a night. I suppose it doesn’t happen very often for you, Your Highness, with Lord Bokuto nearby.”

Daichi supposes not; he had never paid attention to it, since it had never been an issue. “I have not hosted many parties myself. Father still reigns over that, too.”

“A pity,” Mika says. “I would enjoy more events hosted by _you_ instead, Your Highness,” she adds, and coyly turns to leave.

Daichi grabs her wrist before he can stop himself.

Mika spares him a cool look, not at all surprised.

Daichi must shove all thoughts of Suguru’s behavior and Koushi’s suspicions to the side; this trip had originally been about _Mika_ , and what she wanted from Daichi. Of course, he cannot come out and ask that directly, and he fumbles his first few attempts at broaching the topic. “Lady Yamaka… Suguru extended this invitation to me—to Koushi and I—with implied intent.”

“Oh?”

“I know he does not speak for you in any formal capacity,” Daichi hastens to correct, well aware of their different standings. “But we spent much time together in Setaria, and we learned much of one another. I learned how deeply he cares for you. I’m happy to sanction your marriage.”

Her cool facade melts once more, and she is again the woman Daichi knows her as—rosy-cheeked and smiling and warmth in her eyes. “Thank you, Your Highness. It means a lot to us both.”

“I honestly do not know _what_ Suguru told you about our visit to Vierage…” He trails off, prompting, but Mika stays politely silent. “There had been difficult negotiations, in order to secure the peace treaty with Setaria,” he tries again, with a different tack. “Suguru advised me on many of them, and I daresay he enjoyed himself with manipulating the finer details. He has a knack for it.”

“Yes, he’s quite skilled with his tongue,” Mika replies with a perfectly straight face.

Daichi _wishes_ he could simply tell her that her fiancé is a spy on his father in an attempt to stabilize Daichi’s own power. He wishes he could tell her about the multiple deals struck with Suguru. He wishes he could _ask_ what her thoughts on the reigning King were. “Could we speak somewhere a little more privately?” Daichi asks, inclining his head toward the party.

“Perhaps that is the scandal Suguru was seeking,” Mika replies, smiling again, and nods. A little more loudly, she says, “I could use some air, Your Highness, and the weather prevents a walk in the garden. My private wing will have to do, will it not?”

Daichi offers her his arm, relieved. He scans the crowd as they walk along the edge of the dance floor, but he does not see Asahi, of course. He does not know where Asahi went, but he does know that he did not seek out Koushi, which Suguru may have well known. Curiously enough, however, he does not see Suguru, either.

Keiji appears at Daichi’s elbow like a ghost.

“We’re stepping out for some air,” Daichi tells him.

“Advisor Daishou has been called to entertain some businessman,” Keiji supplies with clear disdain. Mika nods along, probably knowing exactly who he meant. “Asahi has yet to return with your husband for their dance.”

“Suguru can live without a dance with Koushi,” Daichi mutters.

At least, on that front, he and Keiji agree. Still, Keiji sticks close.

“Would you go tell Suguru that we’re stepping out?” Daichi asks.

“He knows.”

“Then, go fetch Asahi again.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Akaashi,” Daichi nearly snaps, aggravated despite the Lady on his arm, “ _dismissed_.”

Keiji pulls up short with a frankly comical look of indignance. He appears as if he may argue, for a brief moment, and Daichi prays that he doesn’t. Not in front of Mika. But Keiji closes his mouth again, offers a stilted bow, and grits out, “Of course, Your Highness.”

He disappears from their side as swiftly and as silently as he’d come.

“I love good spirit in my staff,” Mika offers, in commiseration, and Daichi nods while restraining a sigh. “Of course, I appreciate your man’s loyalty, if perhaps not his forwardness. Then again, I am certainly no one to judge on others’ forwardness…”

“Let’s put the thought of overly forward attendants from our minds, shall we?” Daichi says with a half-forced smile. Mika is far more practiced at her return smile than he could ever be. “I am glad that we will get a chance to speak alone in private,” he adds, hoping to steer the conversation back to where he wants it.

“As am I. I love Suguru dearly, but I’m entirely aware of what a biased view he may offer of Your Highness. I’d like to hear certain matters from your own mouth, if I may, my prince. There is _such_ dire gossip concerning you and His Majesty…” She trails off with an expectant look at the smallest squeeze of their linked arms.

Daichi does not glance around, though he knows they are alone now. They are not yet to her private wing, but far enough from the party that there are no would-be eavesdroppers, and the rain pelting against the windows provides background noise.

“I am the Crown Prince,” Daichi begins, “and the sole heir to the throne of Amicora. It is not a responsibility I bear lightly. It is true my father the King and I have rarely seen eye to eye, especially as of late, but we both have Amicora’s best interest at heart. Or so I had believed, until these dreadful matters with Setaria put strain on our viewpoints. A son’s duty is to his father, but a Prince’s duty is to his country.”

He could not risk blatantly disparaging the King, though their arguments were far from a secret from the court. And it is not as if he is truly against his father. They both strive for Amicora’s betterment and safety—only in different ways.

They near Mika’s private wing, strangely unattended by guards. With a party in full effect, he supposes that’s to be expected—she may be a Lady, but she does not have the endless staff he is used to at the palace, after all. It must have been easier for Koushi to slip in, and with a jolt of alarm, Daichi hopes he is not still here. He will hear them coming, surely, but if he were to get caught, Daichi didn’t have the faintest idea as to how to salvage the situation.

But his worries are cast aside when he sees Mika glancing around, too.

_Koushi wouldn’t have harmed anyone_ , is all Daichi gets to think before the figure steps out from the nearest doorway.

It all happens in a flash—Daichi pulls Mika away, behind him, and they both stumble back too slowly. He catches the glint of a knife with a flash of thunder from the windows, but does not recognize the man in the cloak.

With another flash of movement, someone else collides with their would-be attacker.

It’s over as quickly as Daichi realizes it’s Keiji.

He remains on one knee over the fallen man, chest heaving, eyes narrowed to angry slits. Daichi glances just once over his shoulder, to ensure Mika’s safety; she has a hand over her mouth, and her complexion is pale, but she is unharmed. They both are.

“Who was that?” Daichi asks in his steadiest voice, which, damn it all, isn’t terribly steady.

“Dead, now,” Keiji replies. He stands as fluidly as ever, but Daichi catches the way he flinches when he straightens. “We need to move, you two are terrible bait.”

He turns to face them, and Keiji’s hand comes away dark when he pulls it from his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Despite its rocky start, Daichi's stay in Alcaledo smooths into something a little easier.

**Author's Note:**

> (( come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/skittidyne), or check out the [political intrigue tag](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/tagged/blood-blood-blood)! or you can just scream about daisuga with me, i like doing that. also, my tags on the update links for each chapter on tumblr are hilarious.
> 
> also, want early updates? [find out how here](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/post/161839289132)~ ))


End file.
